I, Liz
by KiaraAlexisKlay
Summary: This is a series of drabble-esque/one shots that came to me, various crossovers with Roswell starring my fave character, Liz. Rated M just to be safe.
1. Bad Things

This first story is a Roswell/The Bourne Identity movie[s crossover. Roswell belongs to Metz/Katims/Fox, and TBI belongs Robert Ludlum and Universal Studio Pictures.

**Bad Things**

Jason Bourne stared at the petite form of his adversary, cocking an eyebrow, and marvelling that such a tiny thing could have caused him so much trouble to track down.

"Selene, huh?" he grunted, trying not to show the pain or the surprise he felt when her small booted foot made it past his defenses to connect solidly with his ribs. Twisting about and launching a counterattack that had her dancing out of his range, he continued to bait her.

"Greek goddess of the night, surrounded in tragedy. A little overdramatic, don't you think?"

The Treadstone trained and Blackbriar honed assassin, Selene, came at him with an inherent grace and skill that had been discovered and refined by her brainwashing happy superiors.

"Well, Elektra was taken. Copyrights."

Bourne fought his smile at her retort, sketchy memories of previous meetings confiming that the lethal beauty in front of him was the real deal. His admiration of her prowess only grew as she played along with his game of feint, jab, kick, and repeat. There was a passion and zealous edge to her style that he had seen in himself only .

"Liz Parker."

She was too well trained for her surprise to show, but Bourne knew just the same, as her knife-edge karate chop faltered enough to miss his throat and clip his shoulder instead.

Selene took a step back, arms at ready and watching him warily, yet not attacking and Bourne knew he had her attention. He knew she was trying to analyze her reaction to a name that by all rights should have meant nothing to her, and yet it did, and that part Bourne knew would frustrate her. Drive her to seek the meaning behind that reaction. Eyes the color of earth peered both at him and inward, while the sable of her hair came to rest with the lack of movement.

"Liz Parker," Bourne repeated. "Elizabeth Claudia Parker. That's you, that _was_ you, before Tredstone. Before Blackbriar forced and re-shaped you into what you are now. What we are."

Jason Bourne could see the exact moment that it clicked for her. Something in her brain made the connection through years and layers of conditioning and brainwashing to the person beneath the merciless veneer. Those eyes, normally and recently so cold, melted into warm chocolate, and the expression in them made her seem less the seasoned killer he knew she could be, and the person that she should have been, had been, before.

"David?" her voice quivered, sounding so much younger than her years, and something tight and painful in the region of his heart eased, along with his pent up breath.

"It's me," Jason Bourne, the man once known as David Webb, responded gently.

Cautiously, he approached, not wanting to startle her.

"Oh, God. What did they do to us?" Liz Parker eased out of her ready stance, looking like a lost little girl and Jason - David - couldn't resist any longer.

She didn't protest when oh-so-familiar arms wrapped about her, enveloping her in a cocoon of strength, comfort, safety, and most importantly of all, understanding.

"Bad things, Liz-girl. Bad things," he murmured into her hair.

finis


	2. Pleased, Indeed

A Roswell/Buffy:The Vampire Slayer crossover - Roswell belongs to Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, the WB and Fox - Buffy is owned by Joss Whedon, The WB, Fox, etc.

**Pleased, Indeed**

D'Hoffryn was pleased with his newest agent. He'd been keeping an eye on her for quite some time now. First, when her romantic interest started eyeballing another, then through some rather deliciously angsty and painful circumstances later, there was the visit from a literal 'future' lover, the break-up, the ostracizing from her so-called friends, and the death of the one person who truly loved and cared and supported her unconditionally.

The next year, being arrested, developing some interesting abilities as a result of her love interest's selfish desire to save her life, and an interesting shoot out with the mortal's F.B.I was only icing on the cake. All it took was a car accident and the little brunette was his.

Oh, she wasn't the magical powerhouse that the Slayer's little Red Witch was - who really was? - but she did have something that the soft Wiccan didn't.

Passion.

Anger.

A burning sense of injury, injustice, and betrayal that combined in a sweet cornucopia to give her natural drive the proper motivation to accept his offer.

But most of all, there was her Will.

Oh, yes. His youngest agent had a will that could match - nay - would _surpass_ that of the Red Witch. D'Hoffryn wasn't sure, but he was willing to bet that if given the chance, his littlest agent would go toe to toe with the Slayer's pet channeler and come the victor by strength of will alone. That, combined with her driving thirst for vengence, ensured her a swift rise in the ranks, something only his beloved Anyanka had been able to achieve.

A slim figure formed of mist and shadow and the shocking crimson of blood approached as if thinking about her had conjured her, and D'Hoffryn snorted at the sentiment.

"Have you chosen a name yet childe?" he inquired, and mocha eyes lifted from their place on a shadowed face, her new magickal form still a cause of awe and pleasure for her.

"No, sir," she fairly purred, the words slightly slurred and lisping, as she wasn't used to the fangs that came with the new form.

"I see. Liz is too goody-goody, no one would be afraid or in awe of a Liz. And Elizabeth is just so..." D'Hoffryn made a motion with his hand as words failed him just then.

"Over-rated?" she supplied.

"I was going to go with 'blah' but that will work, too."

Kitty-cat fangs flashed white as the being formerly known as Elizabeth 'Liz' Parker smiled at her employer and somewhat saviour.

"Selene," she finally spoke after a moment of silence. D'Hoffryn found it interesting that she'd pronounced it the ancient way of suh-LEN instead of the modern suh-LEE-nah.

" 'Woman of the night.' An apt name, given your new form and occupation. Ancient name, very powerful, and with an air of the exotic and mysterious, a hint of danger that one discounts until it's right upon you and it's too late. I approve."

Selene grinned once more, before melting into the shadows, knowing a dismissal when she heard one, discreet as it was. No doubt returning to the training levels to further aquaint herself with her new form and magick powers, in addition to those bequeathed upon her by that hybrid boy.

Oh, yes.

D'Hoffryn was pleased with his newest agent.

Pleased, indeed.

_ finis_


	3. Dangerous Intrique

A Roswell/Labyrinth crossover. Roswell belongs to by Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, the WB, Fox, Scifi, etc. Labyrinth is owned by Jim Henson, Lucasfilm, TriStar Pictures, and Henson Associates. And there is a quote later on that was paraphrased from the movie _The Mummy._ I own nothing

** Dangerous Intrique **

A snowy white owl cocked his speckled head, eyeballing the pretty girl below him in consideration.

At first glance, there was really nothing to be excited about, thick sable hair falling straight as a waterfall to rest against her lower back, a petite figure that lacked any great curves but the hint of hips and the slight swell of breast only left a question and a burning desire to see more. And the eyes, well, the eyes were truly a window to the soul, and what a soul this one was. There was a sense of maturity about this one, a weary maturity from one seeing things that one shouldn't, of having experienced what it takes many entire lifetimes to experience, but most of all, a wary resignation that comes only from having hopes and dreams whittled down, dashed, and crushed into fruitlessness, of having lost someone or something close and special.

And yet through all that pain and experience, there was still hope. Still a passion for life buried somewhere under that jaded exterior, and a will and intense intelligence that would be frightening if she chose to examine you like she does those slides under the microscope.

What was it about feisty brunettes that called to him?

He didn't know and he didn't care to examine the reasoning behind that thought, so he left it alone to focus on his current guilty pleasure.

What he did know, was that her pain mirrored his own. And her anger and loneliness intrigued him in a way that was dangerous.

Dangerous for her, that was.

Liz Parker jerked her head up, heart pounding faster in her startlement, as her eyes quickly scanned the area around her for the cause of the noise that had pulled her from her thoughts. Not that her thoughts were really worth her thinking them right now, since they were becoming increasingly dreary and circular in their paths, and she was getting sick of being so mopy and depressed.

Something sparkly caught her eye, and after a moment of inward debate, slowly approached. The alien abyss had taught her the bitter lesson to beware, and so she warily approached the little corner of her patio, keeping an eye out around her in case something or someone tried to sneak up on her using the noise as a diversion. After tense moments, when she listened hard to hear over the noise of her thudding heart and the rushing in her ears, she determined that it was safe to concentrate on the sparkly, and she frowned when she saw what was there.

Gingerly picking up the items, almost afraid to touch them, Liz found a place in each hand the two objects. A worn, leatherbound book with a soft gold embossing and a shiny glass - no crystal, it was crystal not glass - sphere were craddled gently against her. Tearing her eyes off her newfound treasures, she once again searched for any sign of activity, but seeing none, took her findings and retreated into the relative safety of her bedroom.

Giving a grumbling squawk at having to move, the owl glided down to land gracefully amongst the almost garish Chinese paper lights and the changing screen that offered the window some privacy.

From here he had an excellant view of the bedroom and the girl inside.

"_The_ _Labyrinth_," Liz read the title on the book, at once interested and wary. She gave the book's cover a reverant caress of the thumb, in the way a book lover sometimes touches an especially priceless book. A thorough examination of both the front and back covers revealed nothing but evidence of much use, and shrugging, Liz opened the book.

"No one ever got harmed reading a book," she muttered, collapsing back against the pillows mounded against the headboard, and started to read, imersing herself in the tales and history of the Labyrinth.

Unbeknowst to her, she clutched the crystal close to her heart, stroking it almost absentmindedly, completely unaware that the crystal's stormy, murky insides were slowly starting to lighten, that small glimmers of starbursts in various colors were starting to swirl and make themselves known among the dark.

Mission accomplished and pleased with his work, the snowy owl flipped his tail feathers and puffed out the chest feathers, starting to preen as he settled in.

The small bursts of color among all the dark proved that somewhere inside, little Liz Parker hadn't given up, and therefore there was reason to hope.

Making himself comfortable and prepared to watch her all night, he softly cooed to himself a melody that one could almost hear the wind repeat.

Jareth, the Goblin King, was ever so patient.

_ finis_


	4. Wheel & Turn or Bleed & Burn

Title: Wheel and Turn or Bleed and Burn  
Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay  
Category:A Roswell and The Fast and the Furious crossover.  
Disclaimer: Roswell belongs to by Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, the WB, Fox, Scifi, etc. TF&TF belongs to Universal Pictures. The title is taken from Anne McCaffrey's folk song in the book _The Dragonriders of Pern: First Flight_.  
Rating: TEEN to MATURE

* * *

**Wheel and Turn or Bleed and Burn**

* * *

Liz shivered as she stared at the house in front of her. Not that it was anything horrible to look at, if anything, looking at the house gave her sense of safety, of fondness, and well being. It was a simple home in between two other long, thin homes common to this neighborhood and many like it. There wasn't anything special per se, but it was welcoming and warm. The bit of lawn in front and the bigger yard in the back was prize property in a city so scrunched in and climbing atop one another that every inch was infinitely precious.

This...this tiny house was home.

Liz could only hope it was still hers.

It took Liz a good five minutes, in which she was thoroughly and hopelessly drenched, to gain the courage to walk the familiar cobbled drive to small stoop over the front door, that offered little to no protection against the driving rain. Another three, in which she stared and made herself familiar with the sight of the doorbell, and about half a minute as her shaking and chilled hand, only partly due to the rain, raised up to hover over the innocuous white button.

It was a cute button. Well not really, but Liz wasn't in a state of mind that really was what one would call normal. A little less than half and inch and nearly as thin as it was long, it was surrounded by a fake gold plate that was chipped and rusty, but the design of three stacked rectangles descending from smallest to biggest matched the symmetrical architecture of the rest of the house.

Almost in a daze, she didn't really feel or remember her finger pressing against that cute-but-not-really doorbell button.

The sound of the bell chiming inside, an achingly familiar _ding-dong,_ the _ding_ being extended, and the _dong_ an almost hilarious deep, loud and proud boom that let everyone know that someone was waiting outside.

A strong El Nino wind blew more rain and a little debris against her, and Liz shivered more violently, huddling in against herself and starting to wish, almost yearn to be anywhere else. Anywhere but here.

But there was no where else to go.

Just as she was about to talk herself out of waiting, in fact she was already starting to turn around at about the pace of a snail, when the door creaked as it was yanked open. Liz had to blink as light flooded and hurt her night vision, and when she could see, she was face to chest with a very powerful white t-shirt covering bulging muscle type of chest.

Eyes tracking upward off that amazing chest, doe eyes met melted mocha, and she blinked at the glare coming off a freshly shaven head.

She knew that chest. She knew that shaved head, and she especially knew those arms that were currently leaning against the wood of the doorjamb and against the press of the door.

And she knew who owned that chest, those arms, and that head.

"Dom?" Her voice quivered and was almost lost in the fury of the storm.

Dominic Torretto blinked, and had to look down in order to see who had been crazy enough to come calling at this time of the night in this nasty weather. What he saw - _who_ he saw actually - made him blink again, and not because of the pelting rain.

"Lizzie?" he gawked increduously. It couldn't be...could it? Oh, but it could. Her voice, speaking his name as a soft question, was almost too quiet for him to hear, but hear it he did.

But it was her eyes, eyes that pooled and were wet with something saltier and purer than Los Angeles rain, filled with such sadness and pain that kept him immobile.

"Dom, who's at the door?"

His sister's voice seemed to be the kick to the ass he needed, and he straightened, but Mia had already crossed the foyer and was peering around his shoulder to see for herself.

"Lizzie!"

Mia didn't seem to have any problem recognizing the daughter of their father's best friend, and before Dom could do more than open the door wider, Mia had grabbed the younger girl and pulled her inside. Shutting and locking the door, Dom followed the squelching of Liz's shoes and the slight puddles the indentions made, right into the downstairs bathroom where Mia was fussing over the obviously worn out girl.

She reminded Dom of a drowned kitten, her dark hair plastered against her head and neck, almost black with the moisture, and her eyes wide and large on a face too pale, too tired, and too shrunken in. This wasn't the round faced angel that his late mother had cooed over, that his sister had used as a living doll to 

dress up and fussed over.

"Dom, get me some towels," Mia ordered, her eyes worried, and Dom didn't hesitate. He could see for himself that Liz Parker was in a bad state.

He didn't stop to ponder why the sight of a sad, broken Liz Parker had him rushing to do things that he'd normally make a fuss over doing. He just knew that Liz needed help, and he would do his best to give it to her.

Period.

* * *

finis


	5. Kv'arde Luarke

Title: Kv'var-de Luar-ke (Hunter's Moon)  
Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay  
Disclaimer: Roswell belongs to by Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, the WB, Fox, Scifi, etc. The 2004 Paul W.S. Anderson film Alien vs Predator belongs to Paul W.S. Anderson and 20th Century Fox.  
Synopsis: Humans meet the aliens for the first time in recent history...right?  
Rating: TEEN merging into MATURE at a later point

* * *

**Kv'var-de Luar-ke  
(Hunter's Moon)**

* * *

Sebastian De Rosa had faced many things in his life. Hardship was nothing new, first as a poor boy growing up in a small Italian _villa,_ then working his way through college and internships, relationships and failures. But nothing could have prepared him for what he faced now.

"C'mon, Professor De Rosa, I promise you, I won't get in the way, and you'll get all the credit for whatever we find."

"Very funny," the young professor snorted, a small smile trying to escape at her humor, so he turned back to his packing so the woman-child couldn't see.

That same woman child beside him could have been one of the native Mexicans that surrounded the dig, or even an Aztec princess come back to life. What with hair the deep russet of the good, strong clay used to build the massive ruins outside that fell like a waterfall down her shoulders to her lower back, to the smooth skin that despite whatever season still retained a golden sheen that only darkened the more it was exposed to the sun. Or the large, knowing di-colored eyes, a rich warm brown encircling a darker brown, almost black pupil that was just only slightly darker than her hair.

Altogether, Elizabeth Parker was just too exotic and innocent looking, at first glance, though Sebastian had come to know better. He'd caught those same eyes in unguarded moments, and the pain and stories that they could tell, with just one glance, and then they were gone, hidden beneath a cheerful veneer that did not fool him once he knew what to look for. It didn't help Sebastian any that Liz Parker was now turning those huge eyes at him, pleading.

Knowing he was an idiot for even agreeing to listen to her reasonings to let her come, he heaved a great sigh, and Liz accurately took that as a positive sign to continue, so she hurriedly set up her proposal.

"Professor De Rosa, Weyland Industries would never come to you unless there was something of great importance, some ancient ruin or find that their retainer of company biased so-called experts can't handle or agree upon. That means that you are in a position to discover what no other person in recent history has, and that means more work, and who are you going to delegate all this to? Weyland's people? The same people who couldn't figure this thing out themselves? No, you're going to need people you can trust, and people who's not afraid to work. I've been your assistant for two summers now, and you can't just take Thomas, you need someone else to do all the dirty work you 'real' archeologists don't have time for."

"Real archeologists? Isn't that enough to make you go home, since you're just an assistant?" Sebastian threw out, cocking his head at the twenty-year old in amusement.

Liz's eyes darkened and her bottom lip was caught by her teeth for a moment, then her shoulders squared and rounded back as her chin raised in a way that brought to Sebastian's mind images of other Parker women.

"Professor, I really would like to come along. Mr. Weyland's representative never set a limit on the number of people you could bring along, and you said yourself, the reason I'm even on your expedition is because you need someone to replace Thomas when he goes on his own at the end of this year. How am I going to learn anything more if you keep trying to leave me behind? Because I assure you, I have been on countless digs and expeditions with both my grandmother Claudia and my Aunt Rikki, so I'm not just some silly novice to be patted on the head and sent back home. Plus," and Liz took a step forward.

"Were you not my age when my Grandmother took you on as her assistant, against everyone's protests at your lack of age and so called 'experience' almost two decades ago? The same expeditions that helped to jumpstart your career and gave you something to be proud of? And even though you chose a different culture to dig for, don't you owe it to Grandma, at least to offer her grandchilde the same oppurtunity?"

"You are definately Claudia Parker's blood," Sebastian sighed, and this time he let a wry and amused smile cross his lips. "You fight dirty. And it was only fifteen years ago, I'm not that old."

"I call it survival, and fifteen years is still 'almost two decades ago'," Liz shrugged, but didn't press further. The ball, as it were, was in Professor De Rosa's court, and she now waited anxiously for his reply.

"Well...?" she prompted, after he was silent in his regard of her for long minutes.

Sebastian sighed again, looking down, not wanting to give away his answer just yet. But he knew as soon as she played the 'my grandmother was your mentor and helper' card that Liz Parker would be joining him and his longtime assistant Thomas Parks in Antarctica.

"Pack your bags, _signoria._ And pray to whatever deity you believe in that neither of us lives to regret this."

* * *

finis


	6. No Worries

Title: No Worries  
Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay  
Disclaimer: Roswell belongs to by Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, the WB, Fox, Scifi, etc. Highlander the tv series belongs to David-Panzer Productions.  
Synopsis: Joe Dawson's worried about his new employee.  
Category: Roswell crossover with the television show _Highlander_  
Rating: TEEN to MATURE

Author's Note: This one wasn't my favorite, but I guess it turned out okay. See what you think.

* * *

**No Worries**

* * *

Over the years, Joe Dawson became used to all the various types of clientele that came through his bar. During the day, there were a few customers off and on -not enough to be truly busy, but enought that closing during the day would not be altogether a wise choice. The daylight customers were an eclectic bunch, starting with the opening Nine A.M.. until Noon bunch, veterans and retirees alike. Grizzled men -and on occassion, women- who enjoyed swapping stories, recalling children, jobs, weddings and funerals, sipping a cold one be it beer, water or soda, and just plain enjoying getting out of their houses or assisted living apartments to get away for a bit. Joe liked them in particular, and being a veteran himself, never lacked in conversation with these fine fellows.

The 11:30 to about 2 p.m. crowd were business types, suits who ordered expensively, expected swift service, and on occassion tipped outstandingly. Most of the time they were too good to leave more than a few nickels but Joe hadn't received any bad pennies yet. They also brought assosciates or contacts for a quick beer, showing the contact a nice time and a good beer, possibly change a decision or encourage one. Of course, business didn't really start until about five o'clock, when people on their way home from work stopped by to unwind, and by eight the place was in full swing until the wee hour of two in the morning with the exception of Saturday night-Sunday morning, where Joe's closed at 11:59:59 p.m. and not a second later.

But none of his usual customers compared to those he labeled under friends-slash-family-slash-ongoing-pains-in-his-ass. More commonly referred by their names as Adam Pierson, Richie Ryan, Duncan 'Mac' MacLeod, and lord have mercy and tight purse strings, Miss Amanda. His strange family, each one special and unique, also cost him more in beer, liquor, gray hairs, and almost heart attacks than owning the bar alone would have normally. But Joe was used to this, and even crippled as he was with amputated legs, he could handle most anything or anyone in this bar.

He just wasn't certain his new waitress could. He'd be horrified if she could, though.

He didn't know what it was about her, but Joe just wanted to hug her and protect her, and make sure that whatever put the sadness in her large doe colored eyes never got to her again. Joe suspected she was younger than she claimed, even though her id checked out just fine when he asked a regular -who just so happened to be a cop- to run it and make sure. Then again, 'Shirley' could have one of those faces that are eternally youthful. Just how eternal and how 'youthful' that eternally youthful look was, he couldn't say. Which was why he asked his friends, Richie and Mac, to check her out for any 'specialness' they might recognize.

Richie was checking her out a little _too_ thoroughly, and Joe casually-accidentally knocked a glass over the leering boy's way.

"Hey!"

"Smooth, Richie," Joe growled sarcastically, rolling his eyes in disgust. No wonder the kid died young... Beside him, Duncan snorted and hid his grin in a mug of beer, licking the foam off his upper lip and to all intents and purposes was paying no attention whatsoever to the little punky, spiky haired brunette expertly weaving her way toward the bar proper.

"Hey, Joe, I need a couple more Miller's and some Jack Daniels, though I'd make 'em light 'cause those boys are trashed," Shirley made her request, leaning a hip against the cool, varnished wood and rested her forearms on top of the round serving tray she'd recently divested of empty glasses and bottles. She gave Duncan and Richie an absent acknowledging nod, though there was the faintest amusement in her eyes when she briefly caught Richie's eye.

Her sable hair was longest in the back, where it barely came past the nape of her neck, and the spikiness only added a sexy, edgier feel that took one's gaze away from the roundness of her cheekbones. Joe couldn't help but think, as he filled out her order, that she'd look a heck of a lot more natural with longer hair, but he couldn't deny the shorter hairstyle gave her a maturity that others couldn't ignore, especially if one managed a glimspe of those sorrow filled doe eyes.

"Here you go, sweetie. Them boys causing you trouble?"

Shirley laughed, her entire face lighting up with the brightness of her smile and the genuine twinkling mirth, temporarily alleviating the sadness. All three men stared at the transformation.

"Boss, I've been waitressing a long time. No worries. And if they give me trouble, trouble always seems to find them back in one way or another."

Strangely, Joe believed her, as he watched her glide away with an ease and level of comfortableness that only could come with many years of waiting tables.

Yeah, no worries.

* * *

finis


	7. Maelstrom

Title:Maelstrom  
Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay  
Disclaimer: Roswell belongs to by Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, the WB, Fox, Scifi, etc. Alias belongs to J.J. Abrams and ABC.  
Synopsis: Destiny isn't only for aliens  
Category: Roswell Crossovers with _Alias_  
Rating: MATURE for language

* * *

**Maelstrom**

* * *

_Liz P.O.V._

The Crashdown Cafe and Diner has beheld and been apart of many strange, exciting, and even terrifying happenings in it's existence. First, as the bar _Parkers,_ brawls and passion and tempers of the military men and women around the many bases added spice and excitement to an otherwise unevental continuity of living in a small, southwestern town in the middle of nowhere. It's recent incarnation, as the Crashdown Cafe and Diner provided a safe haven for families and no-where-else-to-go-or-afford students and young adults, added to the Roswell tourism with its typical alien-theme right down to the menu and decor, and hosted the scene for first encounters and first loves, death, panic, desperation, and hope.

None of that compared to the day _They_ came for Nancy Parker.

It had been a typical day, school had let out a couple hours ago, Maria and I were rushing out trying to meet the demands of the greedy and glutonously hungry masses, Michael was scowling at the grill and yelling at us, Maria was yelling back, Max and his royal cling-ons -uh, Tess and Isabel, were in their usual booth, and Kyle and Alex were at the counter debating some manly man conversation that somehow included words like 'game console' and 'pokemon' thrown about. Dad and Nancy had come downstairs to help out, since Agnes was who knows where and we'd just started a new special and everyone in town just seemed to have to try it out.

Michael had just come out from behind the counter, and was supposed to be on his break, but Maria was hounding him all the way to the Wardroom -uh, the POD squad's booth, and I was on my way to play peacekeeper and glaring at the clock, thinking about finding Agnes and shoving her pack of cigarettes and lighter where the sun didn't shine when it happened.

Armed men in black fatigues bursting through the front and back entrances simeoutaneously actually didn't surprise me, surprising as that revelation was. I mean, I knew like four aliens, was even dating one off and on, and I think all of us had been dreading this very scene for quite some time now. Wasn't it shocking that the crisis this time had nothing to do with the Czechs? It was like it all played out in slow motion, and seeing all the guns -big, honking military grade or better issued guns- all out and deadly, I froze. Mom - no, Nancy - pulling a nine millimeter Glock semi-automatice from somewhere in the folds of her clothing and taking down two of the invading black garbed peoples only added to the sense of surrealism, it almost even fit. Smoothly snapping into first a one handed stance to take down those first two, and then sequing into the perfect two handed grip and fire before the leader of the Invaders screamed 'Freeze!', it was obvious she'd done things like this before, and often, if her ease and competence was any indication.

A powerful arm snagged my arm and yanked me down, harrowly missing a repeat performance of that September day where my body met ballistic lead. Michael smashed me into the floor, jammed next to Maria, my head just barely avoiding a collision with the gerbil - uh, Tess'- head while the three crouched underneath the table. Michael was practically sqooshing Maria and I, heavy weight on both of us, prepared to take a bullet if it meant we were protected.

Once the guns stopped firing and the screams tapered off, and all that was left was acrid smelling smoke drifting lazily in a shocked silence, I risked Michael's wrath and possible death by projectile by wiggling around to look up and see. A chilling, unemotional voice broke the daze we all seemed to be stuck in, and I listened with dawning horror.

"Nancy Parker, or should I say, Natalia Rochencko, by the authority of the United States of America I am placing you, National Enemy Number Ten and International Enemy Number Twenty, under arrest, according to all the laws of the Geneva Convention, the United Nations, Interpol, and the United States of America."

"What? They're crazy!"

"Liz, stay down," Michael and Maria hissed in annoying chorus, but my feet had already found purchase and I rose unsteadily to half crouch part stagger to lean against a nearby empty chair, Michael gripping the side of my uniform as if he'd forcefully haul me back to the protective den he'd made of our booth. That might have had something to do with a couple of those rifle thingies those trigger happy black fatigue people aimed my way, but my eyes were all for the drama by the countertop.

My mother - Nancy, Natalia, whatever the hell her name was, I only knew her as Mom - was spread-eagle slammed against the far wall, blood and bits coating her once beautiful, once ivory blouse. There was a cut above her forehead and into her hairline that was bleeding unchecked, and her mouth dribbled blood as well. Her eyes though...my mother has always seemed so tired and defeated and dreamy, almost distant. But I never doubted my mother's love for me, and she treated me right, but it was as if she didn't really know how. But right then, I saw her eyes and it was like I saw _her_ for the first time. There was no tiredness, no defeat, and definitely no distance in those eyes. No, they were buring bright with a passion and a defiance and an arrogant coldness I had never before seen or experienced, and never wanted to.

"Mom? Mom!"

"Liz," Dad -Jeff- tried to come to me but one of the fatigue goons held him against another wall, and Michael was there with an arm around my waist and one arm, and only when he stopped me did I realize I'd stood up, my free hand outstretched to where the goons held the only mother I ever knew against the wall.

"What did you do, you bastards? What did you do! Let her go, let my mom go!"

I struggled, but Michael had a good grip, but I was focused on one thing and one thing only and that was that these idiots came in here, shot my family's business to hell, and now held my mom hostage after accusing her of the most horrific things. I don't know what I would have done had Michael not been there to hold me back, probably would have got shot again, or slammed into a wall as well, but hey, the elder Parkers were against walls, why not make it a family occupation?

Strangely, it was my mom's gritted, "Elizabeth," that stilled me, and I looked into those eyes, and there was no coldness, no distant aloof tiredness. There was only pain, love, sympathy, and sorrow and I knew then, even before the compassionate looking black fatigue garbed woman approached and gave me details, that at least some of what she was accused of was true.

"Miss, you need to calm down," the compassionate woman, a young woman actually with hair similar to my own, and not too much older than I was tried to soothe me. I didn't want to be soothed, or pitied, and certainly not from these strange people.

"I don't want to calm down, I want my mother to be okay."

"Your mother..._Natalia?"_ The widened eyes and disbelieving scoff swung my attention to her, and Michael tightened his grip, and started to ease me back toward the group, but I stiffened my legs and didn't back down.

"What do you mean?" I growled out and I could see I took her by surprise. Well too damn bad! Just because I'm short and usually hard to rile or offend, I could still do bitchy and intimidating when I wanted to, and oh boy, did I ever want to then. I could almost see the cogs turning in her head, as she re-evaluated me, and the situation.

"She's definitely Derevko," someone murmured, and another of the invaders elbowed the loose mouthed one, hard.

"Look, I know this is difficult to understand right now, but trust me...Natalia Rochencko is not your mother. And she's certainly no saint."

"Who in this life ever is?" I bit out, holding the woman's gaze, not backing down one iota.

"True," the woman smiled. "True, indeed."

That day, my life was once again forever altered from it's course by gun-wielding strangers, and I can't say whether it's for the better or worse. It seems that Natalia Rochencko, alias Nancy Parker, was once part of a terrorist organization responsible for millions of people's deaths worldwide, and hundreds just here in the United States alone. A trusted lieutennant, Rochencko worked for and under three of the most notorious and sought after women terrorists in the world: the Derevko sisters - Elena, Irina, and Yekaterina 'Katya'. The Heartless, The Man, and The Sparrow, respectively.

But, almost eighteen years ago, Natalia had a falling out with the sisters, and in retaliation, she stole something of imense value of her then-recent employer Katya, and kidnapped a barely a week old little Yelizaveta Shiri Derevko, Katya's daughter with an unknown Israeli asset. That baby, was me. And so she went on the run, changing names, aliases, occupations like people change clothes, before settling down with Jeff Parker, her 'husband' from a previous hardly used alias, known only to her and one other person, someone who'd ended up dead before the Derevko clan could torture him for our whereabouts.

All this time, I was living a lie, even before I conciously chose to lie. I think I have the alien abyss to thank for me not freaking out as bad, though it is freak worthy when you look at it. I was raised as the daughter of one of the KGB's best operatives, who used to work for the world's greatest sibling criminal network, one of which was my birth mother, and maternal aunts. Two of my maternal cousins, Nadia Santos and Sydney Bristow, were part of the black ops CIA team that brought Nancy-Natalia into custody, and now they are are charge of training me, Elizabeth Parker, in the game of Milo Rambaldi. It had been Nadia who I'd been so hostile too, who'd been so compassionate to me, even after me being a bitch to her. Sydney says don't get used to it, and Nadia just punches her in the arm, and they smile at each other.

So now, because of who my mother is and the DNA that I share, I have to help my cousins and APU - the totally kickass black ops group- save the world. I'm stuck in this maelstrom of lies, danger, secrets, and intrigue. My old life, that of Liz Parker, smallest of small town girls waitress and Liz Parker, keeper of alien secrets, is over. I literally have no where else to go, since my Dad...Dad didn't take the news that his wife had been using him and his old Army contacts to sell American military secrets to the Soviets, and that the daughter he'd raised as his own was in fact, not his and had been kidnapped from her own criminally deranged family.

Jeffrey Parker's funeral was closed casket, as most suicides were, and practically the whole town and news stations showed up.

Who says only people not of this Earth can have a destiny? Or even one that sucked?

Cause I have to say, I'd rather take having to fight crazy aliens over having to fight crazy dead prophet's followers anytime.

* * *

finis


	8. Forget Me Not

Title: Forget Me Not  
Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay  
Disclaimer: Roswell belongs to by Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, the WB, Fox, Scifi, etc. The Lost Boys belongs to Joel Schumacher and Warner Bros. The title is a reference to the Lost Boys in J. M. Barrie's stories about Peter Pan and Neverland.  
Synopsis: _"In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends." - Martin Luther King, Jr_

* * *

**Forget Me Not**

* * *

"What's a beautiful girl like you doing her, on the Boardwalk, looking so sad?"

The deep masculine voice purred in her ear, and Liz gasped as she spun from the pier post she'd been leaning on. Her heart was thundering loudly in her ears as it tried to escape the bone cage of her ribs. She had to tilt her head upwards to meet the amused gaze of the one who had snuck up on her. Her eyes widened, not in fear, but amazement at the leather clad figure in front of her.

A worn, crimson sheer button-up sheet was tucked into tight black jeans over a black crew necked tee. Scuffed leather boots of some kind peekd under his jeans, and a battered but comfortable looking leather duster completed the outfit.

Platinum blonde hair wisped into short spikes to curl over a lean neck, and a small black teardrop shaped stone dangled from a black pewter chain in his left ear. Electrically charged blue eyes peered down at her in earnest, while a sarcastic brow lifted in sync with an amused smirk.

"Excuse me?"

Why was she breathing so hard, as if she'd just run a marathon? He hadn't scared her that bad had he? He couldn't have, otherwise, why did she smile at the smirk; it was such a Michael thing, but she could tell this guy had the attitude to give the surly alien a run for his money.

"You looked sad," was all the explanation she got, and Liz's "Oh," brought that smirk back.

"I am," Liz admitted, after of bit of wrestling with wheter or not to answer this stranger's observations.

"Really. May I ask why or even how? This is is the Boardwalk, the epitome of fun, excitement, and intrigue. Certainly nothing to be sad about," her stranger coaxed, the leather creaking and sliding as he spread his arms out to encompass the whole of the area around them. Liz couldn't help smiling again.

"I'm sorry, but I don't even know you. Why should I trouble you with my problems?" she challenged, head tilting and cocking to the side. "Especially someone who took Buffy's Spike persona a too far."

The stranger snorted.

"Please, I'm the original. David."

"Liz," she surprised herself by answering the sudden subject change.

"Now we're not strangers anymore. So tell me...Liz," an incredibly seductive grin curled his lips as he playfully paced around her to glide to the post in front of her, leaning nochalantly against it.

"Unbelievable," Liz shook her head.

"I've got all night and I'm not going anywhere. Trust me...I'm a very patient guy."

"Fine," she laughed, still shaking her head. "I can't believe I'm telling a - "

"Friend, we're friends now, Liz, remember?"

"Friend, right. Okay...Friend David. I was, I was thinking of a friend, another friend," she tossed a wry grin at David, before it slipped, and her eyes became sad and serious once more. "His name was Alex, and he'd been more than a best friend. He was my brother, and now, he's gone."

Liz desperately tried to stop her tears, but Alex was a rift in her soul that would never mend, at least not completely. It was too soon, too fresh, he'd only been gone two months, but still...with his murderer free to go, Liz didn't think she'd ever get over losing her friend and brother.

"You lost him," David rumbled, a fingerless-gloved hand reach up to capture the fat tears rolling freely down her face. Holding the moisture to his lips, he slowly licked the salty mixture, eyes on her the entire time, and Liz couldn't seem to take her eyes off him.

"Lost him? Ha!" Liz's bitterness was echoed in her harsh laugh and the roll of her eyes. She glared at the stars for twinkling in the balmy, Californian twilight as if they were responsible. "He was murdered. Everyone said it was a suicide, but I knew. I knew, and better yet, I _proved_ it."

There was little triumph in her voice and David knew there was more to the story than he was getting.

"We got her. We got the bitch responsible, but they _let her go!_"

Both fell silent after Liz's outburst, and Liz hung her head, but not out of embarrassment as she'd thought. Oddly, she felt comfortable and an odd sense of commiseration with the worldly-wise man before her.

"I lost my brothers too. Many years ago. Not a night goes by that I don't expect to see them walk through the door, laughing, wrestling, or punching each 

other. Marco would hang back, egging the others on, while Paul and Dwayne tried to see who was the strongest. It hurts."

Then David, Mr. Tough-Guy-in-a-Leather-Duster, had to look away. Until soft, feminine hands reached over and cupped his jaw, focusing his gaze on her and the now.

"It'll never stop, will it?" she asked, thumb caressing the side of his jaw. It wasn't a question, but she answered it anyway. "But that's good. We'll never forget them, ever."

"Yeah," David agreed, one side of his mouth quirking upward in a slow, steady smirk. "Never."

* * *

finis

* * *


	9. Questions & Answers

Title: Questions and Answers  
Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay  
Category: Roswell Crossovers with Stargate: SG-1 the tv series and The Mummy and The Mummy Returns movies  
Disclaimer: Roswell belongs to Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, the WB, Fox, SciFi, and UPN. Stargate: SG-1 belongs to Jonathan Glassner, SHOWTIME, and SciFi. The Mummy and The Mummy Returns both belong to Universal Pictures.  
Synopsis: Some answers are given years after the questions were asked.  
Rating: TEEN to MATURE

* * *

**Questions and Answers**

* * *

The day of the funeral was matched by the weather perfectly: overcast, humid, and blustery with the overcast threatening to downpour its righteous anger on the mourners below. At least, that's what it felt like to United States Air Force Colonel Jonathan 'Jack' O'Neill, with two 'l's. He used a forefinger to loosen his necktie a hair, slightly enough that he felt like he could take a full breath, though the humidity was driving him nuts. Dress uniforms and Florida weather were a combination that did not mix, at all.

"Why the hell am I here?" he muttered to himself, but it was only a token complaint. He knew very well why he was here, and humidity or not, there was no way he'd miss this for anything. Go'auld be damned, they could wait.

Jack O'Neill was here to say good-bye to the first woman he'd ever truly loved enough to break his heart.

Rikki O'Connnell, a bright vivacious child prodigy had been a fifteen year old smart-ass know-it-all he'd met at college, he for graduate studies to help him advance in rank and she just beginning courses that took others years before they were able to take them. Sixteen years her senior, but with the first insult she'd mocked him with, he swore he fell in love. The next two years, as he flew his fighter planes and made drill practices and she studied her aritifacts or cursed him in Latin or Egyptian, depending on which culture she was engrossed in at the time, the pair were near inseparable. In spite of the disapproval from both sets of parents and siblings - Jack had already written his family off long before, and Rikki was fierce in defending him against her family's well-meaning censure.

At seventeen, Rikki had more life and maturity and pizazz than anyone Jack had ever met, and the pair had made plans to marry once she'd finished her graduate studies in about four more years, and giving him enough time to establish his Air Force career. But all that was to be for naught, when six weeks after celebrating her seventeenth and their upcoming engagement, Rikki had disappeared, pulled out of school and moved clear across the country. Leaving Jack with an unopened ring box, a shattered heart, and torn dreams.

He would never have recovered his drive and focus to make it through the rest of his college years, without Rikki's best friend and playful tagalong Sarah. The older girl by several years had been just as heartbroken over their friend's departure, for not even she had received a goodbye or explanation. It had taken a few years, but eventually, the ring and proposal Jack had wanted to give Rikki was given to Sarah instead, Jack having fallen cautiously in love with the winsome blond and neither regretted nor felt too guilty for moving on with each other.

Oh, they kept track of Rikki, mostly through the articles and archeological journals of her findings, halfway across the world, either in Egypt or the United Kingdom, the lives and myths and secrets of the pyramid builders or the Knights of the Round table catching her fancy. While Sarah and Jack were sad and angry and even a little betrayed, they still couldn't help but feel proud of the one who had been so much a part of their lives, and all she'd accomplished. Though he'd never said anything to Sarah, the many articles and clippings Jack had kept over the years chronicleing her rise and success, he couldn't help but notice and think that in all the pictures, Rikki never seemed to be truly happy. There always seemed to be a lingering shadow of regret in the lines of her face, and the glint in her eyes, something that only Jack would know what to look for, having known that face and its expressions so intimately.

Jack was sure that he wasn't just genuflecting what he'd hoped to see. It was one of those gut instincts that had never failed him, and no one would convince him otherwise.

Loud, roiling thunder brought Jack out of his musings, and he waited respectfully with the rest of the mourners, as the pall-bearers carried their precious cargo to its final resting place. Jack found he couldn't look upon the casket that bore inside the earthly remains of his former beloved. Incidentally, he was glad for the protection his uniform cover and aviator sunglasses provided, shielding his eyes and the private pain they carried in dully reflected obscurity.

To him, Rikki would always be the cheerful daredevil brunette who was following in her father and grandmother's footstoops to become an archeologist, with a double major in Egyptology and pre-and-post Medieval Britain, namely the Arthurian mythos. He couldn't recall how many times she'd gibber at him in Latin, proud of her British ancestry through her maternal grandmother's side, Evelynn Carnahan-O'Connell, or thrilled at her not quite distant Egyptian hieritage, and proceed to tease him or curse him in Ancient Egyptian.

From two years worth of dating and helping with study sessions, he'd come to learn and recognize a few phrases, the occassional word or trivia bit here and there, enough that he could sometimes know and understand Danny-boy when he got to rambling on, not that he'd ever admit to that little fact. He enjoyed listening to the Spacemonkey go on, it was almost soothing, and familiar in that Rikki used to do that when she got on a kick about some little thing like canoptic jars or whatever that just thrilled her to no end. Besides, if anyone knew he could understand, read, and even write with some proficiency both heiroglyphs and heiratic, he'd be expected to join in all the moldy bookworm stuff and it was just a little too close to a painful period that Jack didn't want to revist - ever. Not even with Danny boy - perhaps especially not with Danny boy. The good doctor would turn it into some kind of male bonding thing, or try to Dr. Phil him, and he never like psycho-therapy analyzation.

Desperate not to stare and needing something - anything - to distract him from the coffin and his own memories, Jack's eyes roved over the guests, surprised at the number of people who had shown up. Rikki had touched so many people and she didn't even have to try, Jack smiled with bittersweet fondness. It wasn't so much how many had shown up, but the variety. There were the expected geeks, noticeable even dressed up by their glasses, rumpled suits, and a general aura about them that years spent around Danny boy had helped identify as 'geek'. Dignitaries from all nationals were scattered about, some decidedly Arabic or Muslim, the head honchos of the Egyptology unit that Rikki had been apart of for so many years. Then there were the Brits, there was no mistaking them, what with their crisp clothing, somber expressions, and nifty accent.

Jack's eyes narrowed a particular group that seemed to hover apart from the others, even as they were in the middlee of the crowd, observing everyone in a cool, analytical way that had Jack's instincts screaming 'special ops' and he wondered- why would Rikki know or be involved with people like that? The men were dressed in crisp, somber suits like the others, but their dark skintone and hair coloring let Jack know they were Middle Eastern, Egyptian or Bedouin perhaps. But they moved too gracefully, too deliberately - predators in a gilded cage, holding back for the crowd's sake but no less deadly.

They were close to the family, and Jack took note of semi-familiar faces, time and memory serving to bring fuzzy recollection to the surface. He vaguely recognized the Carnahan side of the family from pictures of family reunions, who were almost entirely British, the result of a great-grand uncle John and his wife, Patience. He remembered Rikki laughing as she recalled how shocked her father and grandparents had been that said great-uncle had actually found someone to marry. There was some history involved in that, but Rikki would never go into too much detail, just smiling with mirth and then kissing him senseless so that he didn't ever wonder about long-dead great-grand uncles anyway.

His eyes came to rest upon the immediate family, and there he stopped searching. He'd known Rikki's father, Alex O'Connell, had passed away many years ago, and he'd never known her mother, but there was one person in her family that he'd always remember, and Nancy Eva-Lynn O'Connell-Parker standing next to her husband Jeffrey was that one. The Parkers were flanking a shorter brunette he couldn't see for all the people milling about, and his angle was wrong.

Nancy Parker had definitely left a lasting impression, warning him against breaking her sister's heart or acting like a typical hormonal driven male. At the time, Jack had chalked it up to a much older sibling looking after a much beloved and somewhat spoiled but cherished little sister. Jack knew that Rikki had been a surprise baby, he'd heard it often enough as Rikki playfully griped about being the literal baby of the family when her sister and now deceased older brothers had already grown and tried to start families of their own. Nor would Jack ever forget the tongue lashing he had endured when, desperate for news and any information on where his girlfriend had disappeared to, he'd called Nancy where she was established in her husband's hometown of Roswell, New Mexico.

Wincing at the memories, Jack followed everyone else, and waited numbly as Rikki O'Connell was finally put to rest, dead at only thirty-six. Almost eighteen years since he'd seen her last, held her in his arms and heard her laugh, and yet here he was, never having had a chance to get any answers or even to say goodbye.

Something made him look up, and when he did, he thought he'd keel over by the emotion that surged through him. A Rikki in miniture, from her straight russet colored hair, to her tiny yet surprisingly strong frame, was now by the grave, looking down with such sorrow. Numbed, he watched as two tears fell, one after the other, as she kissed the rosebud and released it to fall from her fingers. Peering through suddenly blurry eyes and almost choking from a constricting throat, Jack blinked, and stared again as the girl moved in profile and all the air left Jack O'Neill's lungs.

Oh, she was Rikki's mini-me all right, but the rounded face, the pert little nose, the shape of her lips and the slight tilt of her ears...she didn't get that from Rikki. Or any other O'Connell.

Jack straightened suddenly as if coming to attention, eyes on the little brunette tucked between Nancy and Jeff, suddenly thoughtful and hopeful, and just a little bit scared out of his mind.

One question was answered with undeniable proof walking away with her arms slung around Jeffrey Parker's waist, curled into his side and holding tight to Nancy's hand as if it were a lifeline.

He knew why Rikki had left now, and he even knew why Nancy had reacted so strongly, so violently against him.

Jack cast one last glance at the grave, sent a smile and a soft Egyptian prayer to Mut for watching after her in the Afterlife, and then walked after the Parkers.

He still had questions, and he wasn't going to wait another eighteen years for the answers.

* * *

-finis-


	10. A Vegas Thing

Title: A Vegas Thing  
Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay  
Category: Roswell Crossovers w/ Mr. & Mrs. Smith the movie starring Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie  
Disclaimer: Roswell belongs to author Melinda Metz, and the television series belongs to Jason Katims, the WB, Fox, and SciFi. Mr. & Mrs. Smith, the movie starring Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie belongs to 20th Century-Fox.  
Synopsis: What happens in Vegas doesn't always stay in Vegas.  
Rating: MATURE: This chapter has mature themes and is semi-explicit.

* * *

**A Vegas Thing**

* * *

John Smith loved his wife very much.

Really, he did. And he'd kill anyone who said, implied, or threatened otherwise in the most painful way imaginable. Just because he was the, well _one_, of the world's greatest assassins, that didn't mean that he couldn't or didn't have feelings.

He did love his wife, truly, from the depths of his soul and with a heart he hadn't realized he still possessed, he loved her. Jane was this dark beauty with skill and poise and sexiness and that cute little mole right...off topic. The point was, no matter how many years they'd been married (Jane still insisted they were married a year more than what he said) or how many times they tried to kill each other (which just lead to really hot make-up sessions that lasted all day in bed, or against the wall, or on the carpet or...you get the idea) since, that fact never changed. It might have wavered a time or two, but in the end, their bond had just strengthened and brought them closer. Since that fiasco between 'Atlanta' and 'Father' - two rival agencies that set him and Jane up to kill each other, John and Jane had been more honest in their relationship, and a lot more forthcoming about themselves than either of them had felt comfortable enough to do so.

But John wasn't fooling himself. No matter how honest they were with each other now, he knew that there were things about Jane that she still held back, and probably never would tell him. And as long as it didn't affect them both now, with the life they'd fought to forge with sweat and blood and betrayl and hell of a lot of ammunition, he could understand that, respect it even.

He had secrets as well.

Well, one major secret that always lingered on the edge of his mind, popping up at various times and skirting the edge of being blurted out when Jane gave him that serious, intense look in her eyes that made him want to tell her anything she desired. Luckily, she didn't give him that look often, and it usually wasn't about his past, so he was safe and building up an immunity to it.

Though, his major secret wasn't excactly a complete secret, oh no. If someone knew half a secret, was the other half a secret still or not? That wasn't the point. The point was, he'd already told her the main portion of the secret, so it wasn't as if he was hiding _that_ from her. He'd come clean to Jane about Vegas and him having been married, and that he'd gotten it annulled. Which was all of it, he just hadn't told her what had happened _after_ that little stint of Vegan Matrimony.

What Jane didn't know and what John would never let on, especially after Jane's insistence on his 'ex'-wife's name and social security number, was that though the marriage was eventually annulled, for the seventy-two hours of non-stop matrimonial bliss, it had been a marriage in truth. Even now, the memories of those nights remained some of the most precious, kept in the recesses of his mind to be brought out on occassion, fondled in sweet remembrance, and then carefully packed away until needed again.

She also didn't know, and John wasn't too keen on letting her know, that he still checked up on his 'first' wife occassionally, but not because of any lingering, lust-filled feelings or ideas - Jeez, Jane would kill him dead!- but because of what came out of that alcohol induced union that kept him coming around.

That Nancy had gone on with her plans to marry Jeff Parker was a stroke of fate, destiny and kismet and karma all conspiring to let John off the hook. Besides, John didn't use his real name on the marriage license, and neither had Nancy, so there was really no messy annulment fees or a paper trail to link the two together. He and Nancy had left each other amicably and well-sated, he to his next mark and she to her fiancee, who had come to town after his own week long pre-wedding celebrations. Not even twenty four hours after their 'annullment', Nancy and Jeffrey Parker were married in a legal and binding union full of friends, family, and one stealthily hidden, dashing young assassin if he did say so himself. He'd been intrigued by Nancy, a young anthropology major, and he cherished the time he'd spent with the sweet and not too completely innocent soon-to-be-Mrs.-Parker. He told himself he just wanted to make sure that this Parker person was worthy of such a nice girl - he had to admit, he had his doubts about the wanting to rennovate his family-owned bar into an alien themed restaurant, but hey, he killed people for a living, why should he make fun of other peoples? Although...the alien themed diner in Roswell, New Mexico might have been taking things a little too far.

Which is why no one questioned Elizabeth's parentage when she was born just a little before the happy couple's nine month anniversary of wedded bliss. The fact that she was a little exotic brunette, and Jeff was dark haired and complected as well, instead of blond and blue eyed like her momma only helped.

But John knew, and deep down, he knew Nancy knew, if only for the fact that there was always that little sliver of doubt in the back of her mind. What if..? Quietly, under the guise of keeping her in the hospital for more tests, John and Nancy used one of John's many contacts for a DNA test, but John knew. Even before he got the bloodwork back, he knew that Elizabeth Shiri Parker was his own flesh and blood. Her hair was much darker than his natural light brown artificially colored blond, but there was no denying she strongly resembled a paternal grandmother that niether she nor John had had a chance to meet in person. Only a faded, crinkled photograph and John guarded that possession with a zealous determination, not even Jane had seen that photo. He'd been thrilled that it had survived the destruction of the house and the desecration of his private underground sanctuary by Jane and her 'Father's' agents.

Thankfully, neither Jeff, nor Jane and Elizabeth, were aware of any of this.

John loved his wife. He really, trully did. Especially now that they - him and Jane - were expecting a little girl of their own in a few months time.

But even though he'd never met her face to face, John loved his firstborn, too in his own distant fashion. Over the years he's checked up on her and her mother, sending money to help out, and she's the reason why John's here, back in Vegas where it all started. In a cheesy, run-down motel where a certain 

truck driver owning a snub-nosed 22 caliber who'd been passing through the Crashdown Diner & Cafe in Roswell, New Mexico one fateful, September day was staying.

Checking his gear and satisfied everything was in order, John snapped in a clip and loaded a bullet in the chamber, tucking the silencer in his jacket pocket and smoothing his jacket to hide the bulge of the gun. Placing a pair of Ray-Bans on his face, he strolled out his room.

John had a job to do, a Vegas thing.

He'd be home in time for dinner.

* * *

-finis-


	11. Harry Potter Can Kiss My A

Title: "Harry Potter Can Kiss My Ass"

Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay

Genre: Crossover; Drabble

Disclaimer: Not mine. Roswell belongs to Metz and Katims and I'm not sure who the Covenant belongs to….some really wealthy movie making people though. Mentions of Harry Potter who belongs to Ms Rowlands.

Summary: see title….if you get the reference then you know who I'm talking about.

Rating: MATURE for language.

Pairing: Unconventional Couple (UC)

* * *

"Harry Potter can kiss my ass!"

"You said that?" Liz looked incredulously at her new boyfriend, who was looking entirely too pleased and in no way close to repentant.

"I sure did," he boasted, puffing his chest out in a show of manliness and chin rising up with proud defiance. Wisps of pale, almost yellow-white locks danced across his forehead; escaping the confines of the knit cap he wore to tame it.

"I can't believe you," Liz shook her head, a smile curving the corners of her lips, eyes dancing with merriment.

"Oh, believe it babe," he winked, and Liz couldn't help the giggle that escaped.

Oh, her boy was so clueless.

"I don't know why you would. Didn't you know you look like an older, sexier, non-British Draco Malfoy?"

Liz took the time to savor her victory in the form of the look of absolute shock and slight horror before taking off. A spluttering Reid Garwin right behind her.


	12. Show Me The Way

Title: "Show Me The Way"

Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay

Genre: Crossover; Drabble

Disclaimer: Not Mine. Roswell belongs to Metz and Katims and I still don't know who the Covenant belongs to except some really, really rich movie making people. Who is not me, by the way.

Summary: Girls, boys, and motorcycles

Rating: MATURE for language, intense making out

Pairing: Hmmm….Covenant boy and motorcycle, now witchever one...?

* * *

Show me the Way

* * *

Liz hummed in pleasure, arching into a familiar touch, loving and needing to feel those warm, powerful, and unusually gentle hands on her, on her skin. Her small hand fisted into long strands of straight blond streaked hair, the other clutching and bunching worn leather on lean shoulders.

"Isn't this the point where you ask me to take you to bed or lose you forever?" a husky voice teased her throat where he was laving little nips on her exposed pulse point, soothing any sting with tongue and lips.

"Po-ogue," Liz drew out his name, leaning farther against the support of the handlebars, trusting in her boyfriend's ability to keep them safe from toppling over.

Pogue Parry mumbled noncommittal noise as he chased his own shadow against the creamy flesh before him, and Liz yipped, grinding against chrome and denim.

"Pogue!"

"Yes?" Pogue lifted his head from under his girl's jaw, eyes smoldering black with desire.

"Take my breath away," she panted, curving her lips in a smiling invite.

He arched one defined brow but leaned in for the Eden of her mouth. None of this was what it was supposed to be, but he'd show her the way.


	13. The Midnight Hours

Title: The Midnight Hours

Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay

Genre: Crossover; Drabble/One-shot

Disclaimer: Still not mine. I wish you'd accept it, I've had to. Roswell to Metz, Katims. Covenant to those covetous peeps known as movie people. Song is LeAnn Rime's 'Can't Fight The Moonlight' from the Coyote Ugly soundtrack.

Summary: The night is going to get to you.

Rating: MATURE

Pairing: Unconventional Couple (UC)

A/N: If you have read this one on another site, than you know that this was a songfic, but out of respect for the site's rules against them, I have edited all but the first stanza out, as I think it really sets the mood. If you really want to read the unaltered version, pm me and I will send it on over.

* * *

Midnight Hour

* * *

_Under the lover-sky  
Gonna be with you  
And no one's gonna be around  
If you think that you won't fall  
Well just wait until  
'Til the sun goes down_

* * *

Liz couldn't help but feel nervous, despite her excitement. It was the first time in a long time that she was doing something just for fun, with no otherworldly abyss to suck her into it's void. Or to be more accurate, no otherworldly, controlling and obsessed ex-boyfriend to go all 'soulmate' and make her life wearisome.

No, tonight, tonight was the night that Liz took herself back. Back in Roswell she was Little Lizzie Parker, smallest of small town girls, who's one foray into after school partying landed her in jail. No one would let it go that she'd done something other than study for the rest of the semester's homework and check in with the head nun. But here, here in Ipswich, and more importantly at Spencer Academy, no one was going to run tattling to her parents, or speak about her making an appearance.

She was going to have fun, her new roomie Sarah Wenham was bound and determined she would.

"Liz, come on, the boys will be here any minute!"

Liz laughed as she allowed Sarah to pull and tug her down the beach strip to where several roaring fires were scattered about. Sarah being Sarah head straight for the largest of the bonfires, where teens and young adults in their early twenties were already dancing, drinking, groping, and having a good time or a good drama to the music.

"Isn't this great?" Sarah shouted to be heard over the noise, and Liz's reply was lost amid the laughter and cheers.

She just happened to turn around and caught the sunset over Massachusetts waters, and her breath hitched at the beauty of the ocean, and thankful as the sea breeze brought a chill that she was near a fire. The stars were already twinkling in the waning light, and they were so beautiful, even if they weren't as clear as back home. The stars were positioned differently, so it felt like she was on a truly alien planet, far from home.

Exactly what she needed.

Liz heard Sarah call her name, and turning back to her friend she collided with a solid mass of muscle that reached out to bring her closer to an amazingly lean body in an effort to steady them both.

"Whoops, whoa there," a mirth filled voice rumbled from above.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Liz looked up and whatever else she might have said trailed off as her gaze collided with just as much impact her body had to the figure of said body she was supported against.

Vibrant blue eyes on a gorgeous face holding on to faint vestiges of boyish chubbiness surrounded by a fall of light brunette hair had her holding her breath. An almost tangible line of awareness and connection swept through her, electric, and scalding, but not in a bad way. It certainly was mutual if the approving gleam and slowly forming smile was any indication.

"Hey, Simms, ya going to let my roomie go, or are you going to keep her all night?" Sarah's voice came from somewhere nearby, and with a muttered, "Oh!" Liz leapt backward as if caught doing something she shouldn't, and immediately feeling guilty.

"What?" the boy turned his head slightly, almost distractedly, but his eyes never left her form.

"I, I'm sorry," Liz ducked her head, biting her lower lip as she averted her eyes, unconsciously curling in on herself and crossing her arms to protect herself from the storm of criticism she was sure to be receiving.

Inwardly she chastised herself for stuttering, something she used to do a lot as a child, and was teased for relentlessly until it was under control. She still lapsed into it occasionally when she was nervous or upset. Her eyes flew open as a gentle, yet firm hand reached over to cup her chin in its palm, lifting as her head was turned around and her eyes tracked upward to meet an amused and sympathetically knowing gaze.

"It's okay," he smiled softly and Liz literally felt the tension flow out of her, relaxing and uncurling her arms slightly.

"So this is the infamous new roommate," a feminine, laughing voice remarked and Liz had to forcibly turn her head and take a step back to get away from those baby blues that held her spellbound.

"Sure is," Sarah boasted, curved against the side of one Toasty McHottie. He was tall, dark, and too handsome for his own good…Liz would have been a puddle of goo had her Blue Eyes not captured her first.

"Hey, guys, this is Elizabeth Parker, the new roomie."

"Hello," Liz gave a shy smile and wave.

"Lizzie, this is my boyfriend Caleb Danvers, the leather clad idiot who thinks he's a 'bad' boy is Pogue Parry, his girlfriend Kate Tunney…"

"That's me!" a gorgeous girl of mixed heritage waved at her, causing those around her to roll their eyes, and Liz felt instantly at ease. Kate was like a darker version of Maria.

"Everything's always about you," a light blond guy laughed and the collective groan let her know that she'd found this group's version of Kyle.

"Reid, diss on your own girlfriend, oh wait a moment. You don't have one!" Pogue gave his buddy a mock glower and a shove, and Liz giggled.

"The big mouth is Reid Garwin, ignore him, and you might keep your sanity," Sarah rolled her eyes in exasperation and Liz laughed.

"I'll be sure and do that," she nodded, and turned to face the one who was yet unnamed. He grinned and stuck out his hand.

"Tyler Simms."

"Liz Parker," she took his hand and shook.

Her daddy always said you can tell a lot about someone by their handshake. Tyler had a good, strong handshake, but he didn't try and crush her hand to prove his manliness or that he was stronger. The webbing of their thumbs met, their fingers curled about one another, and one good firm shake.

Her daddy would have approved.

"Nice to have been assaulted by you," Tyler joked, eyes twinkling.

"Nice to have been rescued from my assault," she joked back. Ouch. Her inner Maria smacked her for such a lame rejoinder, and she could imagine Michael's snort and "Nice one, Parker."

"Oh, Ty's got a girl," the one called Reid cooed, and Kate gave a "Whoo!"

"Look, he's hogging her already!" Pogue laughed, giving a slight toss of his head as his bangs crept over his eyes.

"Must be love," Caleb snickered.

"Oh, please, no! She's new!" Sarah mock-gasped.

"So were you and that didn't stop Caleb," Tyler sassed back, sending a halfhearted glare her roommate's way.

"Oh, girl, are you going to take that?" Kate jeered, laughing.

"Hell no, but I'm going to take Liz!" With a faux war-whoop Sarah sprung away from Caleb's side and grabbed Liz, while a fast catching Kate grabbed Liz's other side, and pulled her away.

"Later boys!" Kate blew a kiss over her shoulder as the two plus Liz sauntered away.

* * *

Tyler found himself meeting up next his brothers later on as his favorite time of the night came closer; midnight, the 'witching' hour. It held amusement for the four remaining Sons of Ipswich, and a little apprehension for the locals who cast sidelong glances their way as they danced the night and party away.

"Hey, Ty, where's your new girlfriend?" Pogue laughed, even as his eyes tracked the crowd of people for where the girls had disappeared to.

"She's not mine," he replied, his own gaze scanning the crowd for a glimpse of a sable-haired brunette.

"Yet," Reid chortled, his arm now free of the little redhead he'd been macking out with for the majority of the time they'd been partying…on this side of the  
fire. There was a little blond bombshell on the far side that had been missing his company and the two girls didn't take a liking to each other, or Reid for that matter after everything was said and done. But Tyler's attention was all for a petite, shy girl from who-knows-where that he planned on getting to know very well before the year was out.

"But you want her to be," Caleb guessed, the eldest of the Ipswich Sons serious, seeing for the first time how Tyler was taking this.

"No doubt, bro, no doubt."

With that said, Tyler suddenly moved forward, making a beeline for that sizzle that had suddenly risen in intensity when he concentrated, following his instincts as he wove in and out of spinning couples and groups with one thing on his mind. A particularly loud and noisy group moved to one side and there she was, haloed against the yellow-orange flame and the deepening darkness, the stars a crown above her head.

Her head was thrown back with laughter and her arms came up above her as she began to swirl and move to the beat of the song blaring out from a tiny portable radio, barely heard over the louder beat of the professional D.J., her hips softly gyrating and keeping time with the rhythm. The light reflected off her lightly golden skin that showed between the soft navy of her camisole, and the black of her pleated denim skirt that hit mid-thigh, and the strappy low heel sandals she wore. She wore a soft silver necklace that noosed around her neck, came down between her breasts under her top, and reattached around her waist like a belly chain to match the bangle earrings and bracelets.

Sarah was in front of her and Kate to the side, and all were dancing and keeping time with another, enjoying each other completely.

The aura of defeat and weariness and despair that had drawn him to her initially was gone, dulled under the hours of dancing and laughter, although a deep grief remained though suppressed for the moment. Tyler didn't know what it was about her, but he seemed to come alive in a way that he'd never felt with another girl before, and he wanted more.

And what the Heir to the Simms line wanted, he got.

More often than not.

He didn't think this would be one of those rare times.

He approached just as the strains to a slower paced song came on and after a surreptitious wave of his hand, every radio and sound system was playing the same song.

"May I have this dance, ma'am?" he interrupted the primal feminine dance, and Liz blushed in the firelight at the look in Tyler's eyes. They almost seemed completely black, but it must have been a trick of the light.

"You may," she giggled at his courtly airs, already having got the run-down on the Sons by various sources, i.e. jealous or previous girl toys of the boys. She knew that they were old money and that there were rumors of their 'otherworldly' origins, rumors that Kate and Sarah just rolled their eyes at. But Liz was a master of the Ways of Keeping Secrets Not Your Own, so she was aware of the little looks passed between the two girls when they thought she wasn't looking. She thought she might be paranoid, that just because the Abyss had such a grip on her that she didn't know how to be 'normal' again. Paranoia is just another word for longevity as Michael was fond of quoting. The scruffy and often gruff hybrid had amazing survival instincts, and he'd never steered her or the group wrong, so Liz had no doubt that it was true.

Liz wasn't worried too much. She doubted that any of the boys would cause her problems, and she had no intention of getting involved in another drama of otherworldly proportions. That didn't mean that she wouldn't enjoy herself while she could.

And right now, dancing in the moonlight with an amazing guy like Tyler Simms was definitely something she was enjoying. A swimmer's body, he was muscled, but not in any overbearing or too obvious way.

Subtle power, she thought, a smile chasing across her lips at the thought. The kind that was deadly.

"I hope you're enjoying yourself," the soft whisper sent chills dancing down her spine and a clenching of things much lower.

"Oh, I am, thank you," she shivered.

"Cold? Here," and Tyler brought her in closer, enfolding her in his strong arms, letting her take what heat he could offer, which was quite a lot, Liz blushed.  
They were touching almost everywhere, and oddly, it wasn't confining or controlling like when Max…no, she wasn't going to think of Max tonight, or any other night while she was here. Not when she was…what? Falling in serious infatuation and lust with one of the East Coast's most eligible bachelors?

"Thank you," she repeated, snuggling into his warmth –deeper against his body- and enjoying the feeling of safety.

Liz gave a soft sigh, and realized she was happy.

Content even.

She hadn't felt that in so long. It was nice.

Tyler was feeling much the same way. He didn't know why he was connected or so drawn to this quietly grieving girl, but it was there, and he didn't want to give it up.

"I know we don't really know each other, but do you trust me?"

Liz found herself startled to hear the rumble in her ear; she hadn't realized she'd set her head on his chest, her ear over his heart as they swayed to the music. Pulling back but not out of the circle of his arms, she tilted her head so she could look into his eyes. Like an ocean of blue, she felt pulled to explore those depths, but she held back just enough.

The last time she'd seen eyes so compelling she'd been sucked in so deep she'd drowned and pulled in those closest to her to stay afloat. And the cost had been too much. Sudden fear spiked through her and she must have forgotten to breathe for a moment.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," Tyler hastened to assure her.

"What can you read minds?" she fired back, feeling backed into a corner.

"Nah, I'm pretty good at reading people, faces, emotions, things like that. Besides," he gave a devastatingly charming smile, "I can feel you tense against me in my arms. Relax."

"Oh, okay. You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Tyler laughed, and Liz found herself relaxing in increments.

"So, do you?"

"What?"

"Trust me," he coaxed.

Liz pursed her lips, considering.

"I think I'd like to," she said slowly.

Tyler gave a sigh of relief. He'd been amazed and alarmed at the sudden fear and panic his question had wrought, and he could almost feel the choking weight she had been feeling and he wondered how she could live and be so pure with the darkness pressing on her. She'd been burned, and burned so badly he knew she'd be fighting the scars for years to come.

He didn't know why it was so important to him what she said or did, but it was.

"Good. Let's start right now."

With only a questioning look and an uncertain glance over her shoulder where Sarah and Kate were dancing with their respective boys and Reid had found himself another buxom companion, she followed Tyler's lead as he led her away from the crowds and lights. Away from the press of people and the fire, it became chilly, and quiet, at least that's the excuse Liz gave herself as she pressed closer against Tyler the further they left the others.

Oddly enough, despite her valid reservations about trusting another mysterious guy, she did trust him and felt safe and secure with him. That and the feeling of elation she felt, slipping along the sandy beach, crawling over rocks under the light of the moon, with nothing but the sound of the surf and the faint pulse of music that grew ever more distant the longer they walked. It was liberating, thrilling. She was on a moonlight walk on the beach with a guy she knew nothing about but seemed to trust, sent thrills of adrenaline coursing through her. Kind of like when she and Sean broke into the school for Alex's records, the zing of possibly being caught, that edge of danger.

Who would have thought? Liz Parker, closet adrenaline junkie.

"We're almost there. Here, stay close, it's going to get rough," Tyler offered his arm and Liz took it without hesitation.

He wasn't kidding, the rocks started becoming bigger and more frequent, and they were starting to climb more than walk.

"Just a little farther….here, you're doing good," even the night couldn't hide the flash of white as he smiled and Liz found herself smiling in reply even as she strained to see in the faint light where she placed her next step.

"Here we go," Tyler sounded pleased. They took a left and there was suddenly a little nook in the rock wall, a fine white sand layering the ground, and an unimpeded view of the ocean crashing onto the beach below, and the moon waxing full spread over the ocean.

"Oh, Tyler, it's beautiful," Liz's words were barely spoken, eyes wide as she tried to take everything in at once. Tyler grinned again, taking the time to enjoy this moment. It was perfect. She was perfect.

"Ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?"

"Batman, Jack Nicholson as the Joker to Michael Keaton," Liz replied, and Tyler's brows flew to hairline.

"Beautiful, graceful, and able to identify classic comic turned movie….Elizabeth Parker, will you marry me?"

Liz's soft laugh echoed in the soft cave he'd brought her to and his deeper laugh joined hers.

"But sir, you haven't asked my father for my hand," she teased back, reaching to take the hand he'd extended, and walking away from the edge of the drop.

"I'm sure I can convince him with my manly charm," he bragged and Liz giggled, the sound free and without care, just what Tyler was hoping for.

"Oh, I'm sure," she agreed, shaking her head 'no.'

"You didn't answer me. Have you?"

"Well that depends…are you a devil in disguise asking me for a dance?" Liz cocked her head enticingly.

"I could be," he swallowed, hard.

Her smile was brilliant in the moon's rays that bathed her in a bluish cast, making her seem ethereal, like a faerie or siren of legend.

"Then I accept. You'll be my first," she smiled up at him and Tyler found himself forgetting what breathing meant.

"Sure. C'mere," he used their joined hands to bring her closer, smiling down at her, and drawing her near, sending them swaying.

Without fear she shut her eyes and tilted her head back, arching a little bit, showing her complete trust as he led them about the small enclave to a dance only he could hear. It was the sound of the waves against the rocks and shore, the wind whistling through the crags, moving the sand and grass and reed, and the beat of their hearts, the rhythm of their breathing.

Dancing under the stars with a girl he just met felt so right, Tyler was truly scared for the first time in his life.

What did this mean? Why was he reacting like this, with the new girl of all the girls it could have been?

And why did he not want to be afraid?

That scared him more than anything.

Liz knew she should be more cautious, more afraid. For if anything the hybrids had taught her it was people were never who you thought they were. And they never reacted the way you expected when it mattered most.

But here in this small place away from the crowd and expectations, with a warm, solid body to sway with, such thoughts were practically non-existent. For once, she was just going to be Liz and turn her brain off for a while and let her heart lead.

Neither Tyler nor Liz knew where this was going, but they were more than willing to find out.

Tyler let his head drop slowly, heart thudding wildly in his chest, and on instinct Liz tilted her head forward to meet his kiss as the alarm on both their watches chimed the midnight hour.


	14. Not That Girl

Title: Not That Girl

Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay

Genre: Crossover

Disclaimer: Not mine though I fervantly wish they did...guess we know that it's really reality when wishes don't come true eh?

Summary: Caleb Danvers .......... need I say more?

Rating: Mature for safety reasons; language, possible inneuendo

Pairing: UC

* * *

_He could be that boy  
I'm not that girl -_ Kristin Chenoweth, _Wicked_ the musical, _I'm not that girl_

* * *

My name is Liz Parker, and even though I'm the smallest of small town girls, I carry a secret that no town, no matter how big could possibly imagine. No, I'm not talking about the *Czechs* even though everything lately seems to be about them. Since, you know, *that* day. But I have been thinking a lot these past few days...about love, your first love actually. And how they always stay with you, no matter who you end up with, or how you feel about the person you eventually move on to.

I think about this, every year at this time specifically, about my first love. And no, it isn't Max or even Kyle, and no, that isn't my big secret. It's only part of it, though I am not ashamed of the love. He was tall, dark, and he had the most soulful eyes I'd ever seen...Max comes close, but it's a distant close at best, no offense to him. I found out something about him, about *them*, even though it's my birthright as the second heir to the Parry line. Yeah, that's right, me Liz Parker, am actually the bastard daughter of one of the most influential men in America...a family line that has been around since the very beginning of this country, and even longer in the Old World. Not that it'd do me any good. My 'father' pays good money to make sure that I don't embarrass him too much by actually having to acknowledge me as his...but that's okay, it's not like I want to be my father's daughter anyway. I much rather like the man I call "Dad" more.

But even though that's relevant, it's kinda not. It's because of this family connection that I was able to come into contact with him, my first love. My brother, my _half-_brother, has this friend. And yes, it's a little bit of little sister crushing on big brother's best friend. My brother always hung out with three others, and just about those only for the really important things. They were tight, like the Four Muskateers instead of only three, and they rarely did anything major without the other.

Reid was the funny one, he taught me to laugh at life and to just simple _be_ in the moment. Tyler was the hidden studious one who encouraged me to further myself as far as I could get into my education. He was the one to take the most interest in my welfare, he said that most of the women they knew were just vaporous little twits who used their bodies instead of their brains to achieve some form of accomplishment. Ty didn't want for that to be my lot, and a lot of my study habits were directly resulting from that. Pogue, my brother, just looked on me as a burden I guess. The unwanted and unlooked for child of one of the many women who took his mother's place in his father's bed when the elder Parry was on the brink of separation, for no proper bred lady like Mrs. Parry would ever consider divorcing her multi-billionaire husband over a few 'indiscretions'. Living in that house, I don't blame Po for acting as he did, wearing long hair and riding amped up motorcycles...it was a form of rebellion and it was good for him to not have to pander to what 'society' thought he should do.

And then there was Caleb. Caleb Danvers. He was -is- the Eldest of the four, and even though he wasn't as actively involved as Tyler, he did have the most impact. Caleb taught me to love, and more than that, he taught me about responsibility and how to do the right thing even when it rips your soul and stabs your heart. I was his confidant, Pogue's baby sister who knew 'the secret' and could be trusted not to say anything, but I was just that. Pogue's baby sister. Good enough for the secrets, for advice on women, but never good enough.......never mind.

It's amazing, even now. I can still see his smile, the way it lit up his whole face, and hear him laugh. And even just the _memory_ of him sends me into chills, and stomach butterflies, and a stupid smile on my face all day long. I wanted to him to see me as more than just mousy little Lizzie Parker, the little sister and secret keeper, I wanted him to see me as Elizabeth Parker, woman and all grown up, her own person. But you know that old saying, 'familiarity breeds contempt?' Well, in this case, familiarity bred complacency, and none of the boys, and most especially not Caleb, realized that I'd grown up. Of course, the lack of any serious or noteworthy curves in certain areas probably had a lot to do with it. But you'd think that once I hit high school they would have woken up to that fact. That he would look over and say, hey, where'd Lizzie Parker go and who is that woman in her place!

It's amazing how much things change in only a few short years, and how much some things don't. I've been shot, almost died, been brought back by an alien/human hybrid who's been in love with me since before I was even aware of anything, faced off with the town Sherriff, the FBI, evil shapeshifting aliens, and Maria's drama that she calls a 'relationship'. And yet I'm somehow still Little Lizzie Parker, doormat extraordinaire.

I went down to Ipswich, I know I wasn't supposed to. But I wanted -no, I _needed_- to be in familiar ground, among people I knew I could count on even if my birth, my existence is a little embarrassing to some. That, and I wanted to see him again, to let him hold me like he used to when I got hurt or scared, or to simply hug him and just be held for no reason. To just be. And maybe, perhaps, I wanted him to see me, Elizabeth.

But when I got there, I saw something that hurt just as much, no even harder, than seeing Max with Tess, than seeing Max hold his son. I saw Caleb Danvers in love. Oh, don't get me wrong, I know perhaps more than anyone else that my boys are no saints....far from it, and they haven't been innocent virgin boys for a very, very long time. But this was the first time that I saw one of them actually in love. And Pogue and Kate don't count, cause Pogue is my brother and that would be eww. But Caleb..._my_ Caleb....he was in love.

She was -is- goregous, with this long hair streaked blond, a big smile, and huge personality. I never even met her face to face, only saw her from a distance, saw *them*, and I could tell. She was just huge, like a black hole, sucking everybody in the vicinity in, and they'd happily do so. Her laugh made the others laugh, and when she smiled, you can tell everybody found a reason to smile to.

And Caleb....well, he was looking at her like she was his world. His very meaning to exist, but it wasn't in that oppressive, controlling way Max does with me. And I found myself hating her, wishing in that moment that I had even some of the power that my brother had, and I'd hurt her. But even as that thought came through my head, it left, and it left me feeling empty, numb, and spent. Hurting her would hurt Caleb, and anger him, and an angry Caleb was not pretty. I couldn't do that. I couldn't do it to him. I couldn't break their group apart, and I suddenly knew, I'd never be able to break their love. I wasn't Tess, and the thought that I might actually emphasize and understand what might have been the motivation for that murderous bitch, makes me feel ill.

So here I am, Vermont. Away from the abyss and away from the boys. Away from Caleb and his girl. Perhaps Mom and Dad had the right idea, sending me here. It kinda gives me perspective on some things.

As much as it hurts, I know I'm not that girl.

I'm not that girl that would be 'the other woman', even though I'll always carry the stigma of her 'indiscretion' about for the rest of my life; I'm not that girl who can just sit by and let her on-again-off again boyfriend make me feel guilty for doing the right thing. And I'm not that girl that Caleb Danvers fell in love with.

But as I sit here, writing this down, I've come to realize, that it's okay. I don't have to be ashamed for not being that girl. I'm starting to think that maybe, just maybe, it's okay to just be me.

My name is Liz Parker, and if there's one thing that loving Caleb Danvers has taught me, is that it's okay.


	15. Prodigal

Prodigal

By Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay

Disclaimer: Neither Roswell nor The Covenant belongs to me. I am just dabbling in their worlds, twisting them to our amused entertainment.

Genre: Roswell crossover with The Covenant. AU

Synopsis: Sequel to "Not that Girl" which had a one-sided Liz/Caleb pairing. This takes place a few months after that, so if you haven't read it, you should so you know where this stands although it isn't entirely necessary.

Pairing: Caleb/Sara, Pogue/Kate...no certain ship for Liz, Reid, and Tyler.

Rating: MATURE for language, innuendo.

* * *

Prodigal

* * *

His words tapering off, Caleb Danvers shifted his eyes to and from searching, even as his brothers stiffened at attention. A familiar, yet at the same time strange, brush of power caressed the plethora of auras surrounding them...someone powerful making their presence known.

As one, the Sons of Ipswich turned to face the new player in town.

There she stood, for it could be no one else, across the street and observing them with head tilted inquisitively. A feathery brush of sable colored hair partially covered big does eyes just a shade lighter than her hair. The sunlight glimmered gold against honey-colored skin that looked as smooth as molasses and Caleb swore he could smell the scent of vanilla. But the wind was blowing in the wrong direction to carry her scent to him.

She was so familiar...

"Who's she?" Sara questioned softly, first alerted to Caleb's distraction when he trailed off in the middle of a sentence. Pogue, Reid, and Tyler suddenly snapping on alert like hound dogs catching an interesting scent was her second clue.

"Oh, Pogue, isn't that Elizabeth?" Kate pointed out in disbelief, gawking at the now approaching figure dodging traffic.

"What the hell?" Pogue visibly started, and if possible, the four male's stares grew in intensity.

"What? Who? What's going on?"

Sara was confused. Kate looked like she was going to say something but then the mystery girl finally made it, and paused a good ten feet away. That might have had something to do with the fact that the Sons had formed an unconscious wall, stand four abreast, stepping so that Kate and Sara were protected behind them.

"What's going on?" Sara whispered furiously, even as she was craning her neck so she wouldn't miss the scene play out before her.

"Elizabeth is Pogue's half-sister," Kate whispered back just as softly and quickly.

"No way," Sara shook her head in disbelief. "They look nothing like-"

Suddenly the girl – Elizabeth – smirked and Sara was floored. The two siblings may have looked like polar opposites: Pogue had a light brown, almost dark blond hair and blue eyes while Elizabeth was dark and tan – but that smirk was entirely too similar for Sara's comfort. When Elizabeth smirked Sara could just as suddenly see the resemblance, and it was as scary as it was fascinating.

"Hello, big brother," Elizabeth spoke for the first time.

The sons stiffened further and Sara's heart leaped to see what would happen next.


	16. Outcast Even Among Family

Outcast Even Among Family

By Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay

Disclaimer: Roswell and The Covenant do not belong to me in any way shape or form. Also I do not know what Pogue's father's name was, if it was even mentioned in the film, so if anybody knows I will correct it.

Genre: Crossover, AU between Roswell and The Covenant.

Synopsis: Sequel to 'Not That Girl' and 'Prodigal'…we see a little of what Liz's [i]real[/i] family life is like.

Rating: MATURE for language, innuendo.

Pairing: Caleb/Sara, Pogue/Kate, no ship as of yet for Liz, Reid, and Tyler.

* * *

Outcast Even Among Family

* * *

"What the hell are you doing here, Elizabeth?" Pogue growled, brows drawn down as he glared at his half-sister.

Elizabeth was exactly six months younger than he, but Pogue had never admitted the relation unless absolutely necessary. Taking his cue from both of his parents, he'd fought not to become attached to the young girl who'd been forced upon them every summer to learn control of her abilities.

Though she was not the Eldest heir of the Parry line, she still carried Parry blood and certain extras that came from descending of that Line. Despite being second born, she was Firstborn of her mother's line, and that made all the difference. It appeared that the extras could be passed on to more than one offspring, provided the other progeny were not born to the same mother.

"You don't seem too happy to see me, Pogue," Elizabeth stated, her soft smile of greeting fading slightly.

"And that's different than any other time, when?" Pogue snorted, crossing his arms and setting his leather jacket creaking with the movement.

"Pogue," Tyler hissed, giving the slightly bigger and broader boy a jab with his elbow.

The smile had disappeared from her mouth completely by now, and Caleb started to see the unfamiliar wash of bitterness and an ancient, weighted dullness dimming her eyes before the smooth mask of neutrality slid in place.

"Well, hot damn, Eliza, you're all grown up!" Reid burst out, and he broke ranks first to close the gap between him and the young woman. He lifted her in a hug that kept her feet off the ground as he spun her about.

Elizabeth's laughter – pure and genuine, Caleb noted – was like the sun shining through on an overcast day and spilled over onto those gathered. Her arms were wrapped about the tall blonde's neck and shoulders, and her left leg anchored herself as he twirled around. Her smile flashed brilliantly and Caleb couldn't resist it's call, a grin of his own touching his lips briefly watching the pair's obvious joy.

"Threesome!" Tyler whooped, laughing, as he followed Reid's lead to greet the smaller brunette.

"Ty!" Liz laughed, tilting her head to catch the kiss he placed on her cheek and leaned slightly into his comforting warmth from the safety of Reid's arms.

Reid's spicy cologne and Tyler's musky scent barely concealed the almost ingrained scent of chlorine and the salty tang of the ocean mixed with the crisp, addictively sweet taste of power…ancient and familiar. It was a scent she knew by memory and had missed dearly, a bittersweet reminder of comfort and sadness that defined her summers growing up the illegitimate and unwanted daughter of Adrian Parry, a rich just married playboy and the little aspiring anthropology student Nancy Brennan, a nobody working class girl.

"Hey, baby girl," Ty murmured affectionately, touching foreheads briefly, while Reid gently nipped her shoulder to gain her attention.

"Hey, no sampling the wares, mister," she protested, smiling with amusement and mock indignation at the blond bad boy.

"You're not paying any attention to me," he pouted and Liz couldn't resist.

"Now isn't that a first, change is good for you, poor baby," she cooed, playing with the short hairs on the nape of his neck and Reid shuddered as his body clenched in pleasurable torment. His neck was definitely a ticklish/erotic zone, and one Eliza seemed to have the knack for both the tickle and the torture aspect.

He'd forgotten what a rush it was to be in her presence, her familiar aura and power mingling with his, teasing and caressing. He never felt so aware of everything around him without having to use his own power; it was just something that Eliza brought with her. He knew Pogue would never admit it, and Caleb had never been in on his, Tyler and Gorman's discussions about this, but they suspected that one of Eliza's special abilities was to act as a catalyst to their powers. Sort of in the manner that Chase, had he not turned out to be a power hungry murdering asshole, would have done to complete the Covenant.

"Good grief," Pogue grunted in derision, casting a baleful glare at his 'traitorous' friends gathered around the petite brunette.

"Easy, Pogue," Caleb's hand on his shoulder was welcome and not, and he nodded acknowledgement to his leader.

"I'm going to keep Tyler and Reid from mauling her on the street and we can go somewhere more private to talk."

With a final squeeze, Caleb walked toward the trio. Pogue felt a spurt of jealousy when he saw Elizabeth give Caleb a welcoming smile and laugh. He couldn't hear the soft spoken words Caleb said that finally freed her from Reid's embrace, but he could see her throw her arms around him in a big hug.

"You're not jealous of the bastard," Pogue grumbled to himself, quickly locking down any unnecessary emotion.

Even as he met the foursome with his now stoic, unshakeable wall, he couldn't help thinking, who was the bastard he was referring to?


	17. I Guess It's Gonna Have To Hurt

I Guess It's Going to Have to Hurt

By Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay

Disclaimer: Roswell and The Covenant are not mine, they belong to their respective creators, T.V. stations, etc.

Synopsis: Part Four of the 'Girl' series, beginning with 'Not that Girl', 'Prodigal', and 'Outcast Even Among Family'.

Pairing: Pogue/Kate, Caleb/Sara. No ship for Liz, Reid, or Tyler as of yet.

* * *

I Guess It's Going to Have to Hurt

* * *

Liz wasn't dishonest enough with herself that she couldn't admit, at least to herself, that Pogue's snubbing hurt. You'd think that after almost eighteen years that she'd expect, nay prepare for it, but still…it hurt so bad.

Tyler and Reid were almost the same as always, her outer shell of protection from both her brother and her father's censure. It amused her to see the new appreciation and regard they had for her, even if they themselves weren't aware of it yet.

It took almost eighteen years, but Reid and Tyler now saw her as a female, a real female, and not just Pogue's unwanted half sister. She knew for certain Reid had noticed, his body at least had recognized her, as they had been pressed so intimately together. And Tyler…well, she'd always had a certain connection with Tyler on an emotional standpoint, so she just *knew* his thoughts had shifted where her status as a member of the opposite sex was concerned.

And then she felt him, a presence and warmth so familiar and welcome in a different way. Liz turned in Reid's arms to flash a mega-watt smile Caleb's way, and laughed at Reid's pout.

"Let her go, Garwin, m y turn," Caleb smirked and Liz gladly went from Reid's arms to Caleb's. Long arms wrapped around her and tugged her close for a friendly hug.

Liz buried her head against his chest and finally willed herself to relax. She knew he had a girlfriend, and in no way was she trying to make a move on someone else's guy! Been there, had it happen to her before, not going to happen by her! But that didn't change the fact that Caleb Danvers gave the best hugs that made her feel safe, cherished, and loved. Almost better than an Alex hug.

"Hey, you," he murmured into the top of her hair.

"Hey ya back," she answered, breaking the hug with inner reluctance.

"What…? Is Elizabeth Parker too old and too good to give me a proper hug?" Caleb teased a smile from her.

"Never, but I haven't given Ty a hug yet, and I don't need to make enemies with your new girl over there," Liz gave a traditional Parry smirk, laughing when Caleb quickly released her and sought out Sara before he even finished turning around.

She was chuckling as she gave Tyler a proper hug before allowing herself to be tugged along by Reid and Tyler to the rest of the group.

Pogue was glaring at her again – no surprise there- and the ever beautiful Kate Tunney by his side. Liz had never been really close to her brother's steady girlfriend – she wasn't allowed. The girls were civil enough to one another and Kate hadn't tormented her as some of the others had all those summers ago.

The coco-skinned beauty gave her a slight nod of acknowledgement as they boys hustled her closer and Liz returned it in kind. Years of dealing with Isabel had helped her see it wasn't exactly personal, even if the realization was small consolation.

Her eyes were drawn to Caleb and the little blonde who was peeping curiously out at her from her safe position tucked against Caleb. It mad Liz smile, quite sharply reminded of Michael's treatment of Maria, and quickly she tucked the memory away as Reid dove right into the introductions.

"Sara Wenham, this is Elizabeth Parker, one of our oldest and dearest friends. Eliza, this is Sara Wenham, Caleb's girlfriend and Kate's roommate."

"Hello, nice to meet you," Sara smiled, noting the familial connection was left out but not commenting upon it.

Yet.

"Nice to meet you, too," Liz greeted politely, but her smile held real warmth, and Sara relaxed into Caleb. Some instinct told her that despite their greeting, Elizabeth was no threat to her and Caleb's relationship.

It'd taken her a few years, two ex-boyfriends, a broken heart, a dead best friend-surrogate brother-confidante, and an extended self imposed exile to an all girl boarding school, but Liz could safely say she was no longer in love with Caleb Danvers. She was even sincere when she wished the pair the best, and meant it when she said it was nice to meet her.

See…even little girls have to grow out of their crushes someday.


	18. Healing Hands

Title: Healing Hands

Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay

Genre: Crossover; crack!fic

Disclaimer: _Roswell_ is Metz and Katims' baby..._HOUSE, M.D._ is David Shore and Fox's comedic answer to ER...erm, uh, it belongs to them. ;p

Synopsis: The good Doctor House meets the newest member to Princeton-Plainsboro...and she's not "Thirteen" either.

Rating: MATURE only cause it's House, c'mon. Possible language and inneuendo.

A/N: This is a crack!fic and intended to be humorous, not offensive. I've only seen a few episodes of House, but Hugh Laurie is such a memorable actor, and his delivery of House's dry humor and obnoxious and unorthodoxal teachings is brilliant. Not to mention hilarious. This one's for **ellie** who mentioned the House/Liz pairing in a crack!fic and damn it if it didn't stick in my head! Darn you! I hope I do House justice and that you enjoy it.

* * *

Healing Hands

_"Perseverence does not equal worthiness. Next time you want to get my attention, wear something fun. Low-riding jeans are hot." - Dr. House, House M.D._

* * *

"She's an alien."

"Excuse me?" Dr. James Wilson looked up from his screen, only half listening as his friend and general pain in his ass delivered his usual off the wall comments in place of a greeting like normal people.

As if Dr. Gregory House would ever qualify as normal.

"See, I'm right. The invasion has already taken residence in the empty space between your cranium where your brain should be."

Dr. Wilson barely restrained from rolling his eyes, choosing instead to look back on his computer screen, trying hard to ignoring the steady thumping of the cane that signified House was coming closer, knowing that in the end it was utterly useless to do so. He looked back up when the tactiturn doctor remained silent, surprised at the silence, and met House's thoughtful frowning study.

"What?"

"Just trying to determine the extent of the damage. The fact that you're sitting rules out the anal probe this time around."

"House!" Wilson shook his head, exasperated, and gave up on his research to give his friend his full attention. "Okay, I'll play your game. Who do you think is an alien and why is this relevant?"

"That new microbiologist chick interning, and she's an alien because no one is that damn good with so many healthy patients. That's an oxymoron in and of itself, a 'healthy' patient. Makes it sound like we have a hospital full of hypochondriacs."

Wilson arched an eyebrow trying to follow House's twisted logic, and gave a sigh as he racked his brain to identify House's 'alien', and giving a sigh when he recalled the new intern.

"I don't know why you'd think that _Doctor_ Parker is an alien...if anything, I think you'd get along scarily well with her...she is perserverant _and_ she wears low-rise jeans every time she can manage it. She certainly got your attention," he smirked, recalling a previous conversation with his friend on just that.

"Using my own words against me isn't counterevidence...even if it's annoying," House shook his head, idly swinging his cane in one hand as he sat in thought. Wilson thought it best to leave House to his thoughts, although that could be more damaging in the long run.

"Well, it's been nice talking to you and just do me a favor?" House stood up.

"And what is that?" Wilson cocked his head to the side, almost dreading what would come out of the crippled doctor's mouth.

"Stay away from the light. You might find yourself the star cadaver in an alien autopsy."

"Go on your rounds for once, and don't bother Dr. Parker!" the last was shouted to be heard as the troublesome doctor shuffled his way out the office, the glass door slamming shut on them. Wilson groaned and hoped to any deity listening that Dr. Elizabeth Parker was strong enough to face House. He'd hate to have to go through interviewing a new doctor of microbiology so soon. Cuddy would have his hide.

Liz tensed ever so slightly as she felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle for the umpteenth time that day. Her instincts screamed that someone was watching her, but whenever she tried to get a glimpse of the annoying stalker there was no one there. She knew for a fact that it wasn't Max, having been on the receiving end of his intense gaze so often she knew the feel of his eyes by heart. No, this was someone new, and while there wasn't anything inherently hostile, it still was aggravating...not to mention nervewracking. She hadn't done anything out of the ordinary to reveal she wasn't exactly a 'normal' girl anymore, had she? It went past bewilderment, way beyond fearful, and sequed from annoying to ridiculous without a breath.

She was pissed now, and as soon as she finished with this patient, she was going to do something about it.

House smirked, decades of observing people had taught him much, and he could tell from her body language that the alien known as Dr. Parker was getting tense. Probably because she knew she was close to discovery, to be exposed to the world for what she was. It just wasn't right, House knew, that the vast majority of patients sent to Dr. Parker were suddenly 'healed' or 'made better'. Even though he knew that she was more than qualified for the position, he didn't think that anyone was _that_ good to figure out what was wrong with a patient so quickly. So either she was the Plague made Flesh or she was an alien with advanced mental and healing capabilities to accurately diagnose and treat so many patients successfully.

He'd keep an eye on her.

"Ah, ha! Got ya," Liz gritted her teeth, catching site of her stalker's reflection in the mirror. Memorizing his facial features, Liz smiled at her patient, excused herself, and exited the room at an unhurried pace.

"Here we go," House waited a beat as he stalked his prey.

"Just a little bit closer," she murmured under her breath, keeping a wary eye out for...ah, there it was!

"Ah-ha! Huh, where's she go?" House blinked at the empty corridor before him. He looked suspiciously around, he hadn't heard any of those doors opening or closing, and there was no way she could have made it out the double-doors separating this corridor from the next so soon...could she? Maybe it was one of her alien powers, right up there with a strange predilection for world domination.

House got ready to turn around the way he came and came to a stop, for once surprised. Before him stood his quarry, one hand on her hip, and an eyebrow arched in a manner that meant she meant business. He'd seen that look on Cuddy's face often enough to recognize it.

_Looks like little miss moonbeam is pissed_, he thought.

"Houdini would have payed you a fortune to learn how you do that," was what came out instead.

"Shame he's dead. Student loans are coming up and the interest is a bitch," she snarked back.

Oh, my God.

"Marry me?"

"Won't the geriatrics ward miss you, or are they that desperate to get rid of you?"

If was official. He was in love with an alien microbiologist.

Liz had been unamused when her stalker boy had turned the corner and come down the hall after her, an attractive man about her dad's age or so in trousers, button up shirt, and a blazer jacket limping heavily and using a cane, she was just grimly thankful the mindwarp had held much as she detested this particular 'extra' bequeathed upon her by her not-so-human-anymore status.

She knew she'd hung around Michael and Kyle too long when she'd caught herself humming a medley of theme songs ranging from _Mission: Impossible_ and _Alias_ while she laid in wait for her prey. He wasn't what she expected, Dr. Gregory House his nametage read, and then she knew this was the infamous Dr. House she'd been warned about.

His quip about Houdini right off the starting gate was so off the wall, so out there, that she replied automatically as if she were returning fire with Michael. His proposal wasn't the most romantic she'd received in her life but it was by fat the the most amusing, as she didn't know whether to commit murder or laugh her ass off, both of which would result in her being fired and undue attention brought down upon her.

"So why are you following me, Dr. House? Was there finally a mutiny on the _Bounty_ or did your group vote you off the island?" she smirked, but her eyes retained a seriousness rare for one her age.

"What, was 'Marry me,' not clear enough for you? Or is English not the language for your home planet?"

"I'm not the spacey one here, Doctor," Liz leaned against the wall, already feeling the beginnings of a DeLuca sized headache brewing.

"Are you really sure about that? Because I know how much denial illegal aliens tell themselves and others to stay in their little niches," House went on, shifting to lean more comfortably on his cane.

"You seem to be on a theme here Doctor."

"Just trying to get to the truth."

"Really? Cause from what I'm hearing you're probably on some kind of medication to keep infering things that aren't accurate."

"Which part, the illegal alien status or the language half? You need to be a little more specific there, Ripley."

Oh, my God, he's Michael in twenty-five years, Liz closed her eyes, bumping her head back.

"Ripley huh? You know what, yeah, I'm an alien," she rolled her eyes. "But not just any kind. I used to be fully human until a clone of recombiant alien/human hybrid dna infused with the essence of alien royalty manipulated my moleclar structure to heal me from the brink of death, and now I am part of the Alien Abyss. Because I'm such a sucker for sappy expectations, I now use my power for good even though I can kill you with my mind. Happy?"

"Not really. I left my voice recorder at home...you should escort me to my office so we can retrieve it."

Liz couldn't help it, she laughed, and was pleased when a quiet chuckle reached her ears.

"Lead on, Doctor, lead on."

"You know, this could be the start of a beautiful...."

"Finish that sentence with something smartass and I'll fry your unmentionables," Liz warned as they strode out of the corridor the way they'd come, only this time they were together.

This could be the start of a beautiful....whatever.


	19. Collide

A/N: this one is for **darkmoon** who was such a dear and gave me my Zan and Liz wedding...times two! So this is just the first of her 'thank you gifts'.

Title: Collide

Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay

Disclaimer: Not Mine. Roswell looks to Metz, Katims, and Fox while Stargate is to...uh...I forgot, but definitely not me.

Genre: Crossover

Synopsis: It all started with a bang.

Rating: MATURE for language...possible innuendo

Pairing: U/C - just what darkmoon asked/begged for.

* * *

It all started with a bang.

Dr. Elizabeth Parker was on her way from a debriefing on the latest SG mission and some of the samples taken when the familiar boom of an explosion in the direction she was heading toward was followed by the shrill clarion of the alarm klaxons, blaring out the obvious. Bang = Bad, it didn't take a genius to know that.

Her pace hurried forward, anxious and curious, anxious because it was too much of a coincidence the boom came from where she was headed, and curious to see if she could help and what caused what. Her suspicions were confirmed when rounding a corner she could see thick, noxious smoke billowing out from the lab - _her_ lab.

"Oh, hell," she muttered, and shouldered her way past the gathering SF's who'd come to investigate, and she waved them off, saying only one word, a name, and tried to ignore the knowing look on the the commander's face when she spoke that word.

Opening the door, amazed the thing was still working, she kept to the side as the smoke escaped, and taking a deep breath she plunged on in, sleepless days and nights spent working aiding her as she was familiar with where each and every piece of furniture was located allowing her to navigate through the room unhindered. Fortunately, the smoke was already beginning to thin out, though the strain of the ventilation system could be heard as it sucked the smoke out and blew clean - well recycled, air anyway- in. But there was still an acrid smell left, chemical, and Liz knew from experience that it would linger for a few days.

And there, in the middle, with his messy brown hair spiked up and his face covered in the sooty smoke, outlining a clean patch where goggles had been in placed, was the culprit himself. He turned around, coughing, and his eyes widened as they caught sight of her, the familiar smirking sneer absent as he coughed again into his arm, one hand holding the bottle neck remnant of a beaker, the other clutching a small glass stylus mixer.

"McKay! What the hell did you do to my lab?"

"Giving you an excuse to renovate apparently," he sniped, still coughing, but sounding indignant. Dr. Rodney McKay had almost winced as he heard the calm anger in the other doctor's tight voice; Dr. Parker rarely ever cursed unless it was either a) dire circumstances or b) she was pissed. In this occassion, it seemed to be a mixture of both.

"You cause an explosion, _in my lab,_ and have the audacity to be the indignant one?" Liz winged one eyebrow up in disbelief, although she should have expected it from this man. He had been the pain in her ass and everyone else on base, what with his superior attitude toward those with no less than two PhDs, and even then it was iffy that anyone could stand the obnoxious genius.

"I was working on something!" he pouted and Liz held back a groan.

Liz being Liz had found herself paired up with the snotty scientist fairly often, ostentatiously because she was the only who could put up with him for more than the time it took for the initial meet and greet when McKay opened his mouth to spit derision the unfortunate's way. McKay did have that affect on 99.99% of those who came in contact with him. Years spent dealing with such titans of testiness as the POD squad had toughened her up, and increased her tolerance level of waspish, self-absorbed, self-important individuals, even if McKay was deserving of his brilliance. In many ways, McKay reminded of her what would happen if someone took Maria, Isabel, and Michael and stuck them all in a blender and this is what the resulting personality would be. He was dramatic enough to match Maria on a good day, self-absorbed and superior enough to give Isabel and Tess a run for their money, and surly and sarcastic so that she dreaded the outcome if he were ever to encounter Michael. Given if he didn't know about Michael's other worldly status, the two would either kill each other or team up...neither option did Liz want to explore.

He was crass, rude, utterly brilliant, knew he was brilliant, and snarked at anyone and everyone. Most of the time she either ignrored it or waited patiently for him to finish off whatever it was he was bitching at, smile, and then go on with what she was doing in the first place. She listened patiently to his rants and lectures, offered suggestions when she could, and tried not to take it personal when he went off about her methods or theories. Generally she could ignore it, but she was just as stubborn as he was, and despite her laid back attitude she had no qualms about putting him in his place when he pushed the line too far.

He was funny in the brilliant-offputting-scientist doesn't have a clue kind of way, and sometimes Liz thought he would be cute, or a little more likeable if he wasn't putting up emotional walls to keep people out. Yeah, he really did remind her of Michael.

"Are you finished now, or are you going to hold onto your pieces all night?" Liz suppressed a smirk as she gestured to the broken beaker in his hand, mentally filling out a requistion form for new equipment.

"What? This...oh."

Then Liz saw something she never though she'd see on Rodney McKay...he blushed. He ducked his head down, and that's when Liz really registered the soot and the clean mask where the goggles had lain, and the laugh bubbled out before she could stop it.

"What?" This time McKay was scowling as he tossed the broken glass into a charred area where the point of origin had occured, the small glass mixer finding it's way along side it, the tinkling as they broke was music to his still flaming embarrassed ears.

"Oh, Rodney, you're all dirty," Liz was still chuckling as she crossed the distance separating them and without thought brushed lightly against his cheek, smudging some of the dirt off and holding her hand up for his inspection.

As soon as Liz Parker's fingers softly brushed across his skin, McKay froze, surprise and an unexpected hammering in his chest and a tightening in his stomach occured. No one had ever touched him willingly before and he could only stare at her, barely registering the dirt staining the flawless skin of her fingers.

"Are you hurt? Did any of the glass strike you when they exploded?" she prodded, gently but firmly, and she stepped closer into his personal space, her soiled hand skimming across his smoke-grayed lab coat and flicking off some of the debris. Her eyes were focused on the path her hand was taking, so she didn't see the odd look grace his face before he smoothed it once more into his usual surly expression.

"No," he snipped out, and tried to move away, but she paced him, easily staying parallel, and her other hand came to grasp his wrist as he pulled back and he froze.

"You're going to Medbay and get checked out. I don't want to take any chances."

"I don't need a babysitter," he hissed, offended.

"Really? I leave you for half an hour for a debrief and you blow my lab to smoking char. You're just lucky you didn't blow yourself up. And you will see the doctor if I have to have General Hammond order those nice Airmen to knock you out and carry you there, do you understand me?"

Her voice left no room for argument and Rodney McKay surprised himself again for the second - or was it third?- time by acquiesing the request.

"All right, all right, I'll see the witch doctor if it'll make you shut up. The sooner I get medically approved the sooner I can get back to my work," was his excuse, and he was discomfitted to see the knowing glint in Parker's eyes when she looked at him for a few heartbeats.

"After you," her smile was genuine in it's warmth and concern but she simply nodded and indicated he should preceed her out the choking atmosphere.

She knew when to not push, Rodney realized with a jolt of an unfamiliar emotion; gratitude.

"You're just wanting to make sure I get to med bay," he snarked over his shoulder, striding -stomping- out the door and passing the gathered SFs.

Liz timed it just right as they passed the commander, smiling behind his back as she said, "Nah, I just wanted to see your ass."

Rodney McKay's legs suddenly seemed to forget how to function and he ended up colliding with a wall.

Liz grinned...she still got it.


	20. Doomed

A/N: As soon as I saw this prompt, I couldn't resist! LOL While it is not traditionally Polar....it does have hints of futurePolar as well as a possible future ship apparent when you read. Enjoy!

Title: Doomed

Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay

Disclaimer: _Roswell_ looks to Melinda Metz and Jason Katims; _Supernatural_ looks to Kripke and the WB.

Category: Drabble, Prompt #26 Supernatural

Synopsis: It's supernatural!

Rating: MATURE

* * *

_Be near me when my light is low,  
When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick  
And tingle; and the heart is sick,  
And all the wheels of Being slow._

Be near me when the sensuous frame  
Is rack'd with pangs that conquer trust;  
And Time, a maniac scattering dust,  
And Life, a Fury slingling flame.

- Lord Alfred Tennyson, from _In Memoriam, 50_

* * *

"C'mon, Michael, you can't tell me you _don't_ believe this?"

Michael scowled down at Parker, offended that she could even think that he'd accept this as truth. Her, little miss scientist herself, miss grounded in reality and facts, was choosing to believe this, this twaddle?

"That's exactly what I'm saying." That said, his arms assumed their natural position, folded in front of his chest as he straightened and glared down at her, eyes narrowing at her muttered, "Unbelievable."

"Aw...c'mon Michael. You of all people should understand that somethings aren't what they seem," the cock-sure arrogant jibe set him on edge....or was the fact that Liz seemed to soften and melt into female idiotic goofy goop at the sound of that voice the reason?

"Shut it, Shorty," he cast the first salvo over his shoulder in disdain.

"Make me, Grease Head," came the counterstrike, and the insult over the hair did him in.

"Did you inhale your car's fumes on the way to the funny farm or what?" Michael transfered his glare from Liz to the Biker Wannabe with his gelled up hair and leather jacket.

"Did you forget a little invention called a shower?" Hazel eyes met whiskey colored ones in a battle of wills as old as time.

"Guys, stop it!" Liz had enough.

"That's enough!" Another voice joined in, as Liz and the taller brother stepped in between Michael and Mr. Cock-sure before the snarls and insults and quips could turn into fists and blood and broken bones.

"Honestly, Liz, how can you even listen to this crap? Ghosts, hauntings, things that go bump in the night? When did you turn into Maria?"

His retort hit the spot and Liz's flinch lasted only as long as it took for her to be pissed off.

"Oh right, and hybrids carrying the re-incarnated essence of spacefaring race are just as believable? Shapeshifting motherfuckers that go poof when you hit the sweet spot?" Liz cocked an eyebrow in challenge and the cocky bastard started laughing.

"Shut it, Casper," Michael growled, glaring.

"Phone home, Spock," Dean snapped back, and Sam groaned, keeping a wary eye and a hand on his brother's chest, holding him back.

"We are so doomed," he mourned.


	21. Bad Day

**Bad Day**

by Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay

Disclaimer: neither _Roswell_ nor the Bourne series of movies is mine to own.

Genre: Crossover

Summary: Treadstone training has it's bad days.

Rating: MATURE language, violence, torturous training

Pairing: Liz/David Webb (pre Jason Bourne)

A/N: Spoilers for Roswell and some of the Bourne movies. This one's for **darkmoon** since I've been holding it as a promise for a fic and I haven't delivered yet, so here it is. Also, if some things concerning the Bourne movies aren't correct, please don't hurt me. It's just been a while and I'm running off memory of JB's flashbacks so don't hold me too accountable, be easy. Just remember David Webb is who Jason Bourne was before he took of the mantle of Bourne, the assassin.

* * *

Captain David Webb, US Army Ranger, gave a deep breath of much needed air, the burn of liquid running down his sinus' even as great splatters of water shook from the hood covering his face reminded him of when you'd go swimming and get water up your nose, only he didn't know when his next breath would be and he took in that one breath just as he felt himself propelled forward and down, once again being submerged against his will in a grated vat of water to keep him from coming up before They let him.

Finally, after what seemed like ages and eons to David, he was roughly pulled back up and carted off. Embarrassing, at almost six feet two inches he was hauled off like some drunk being taken out by two burly bouncers, and Webb felt every bump and jar of his journey as his handlers purposely ran him into every wall and sharp corner they possibly could, and tripped him to watch him fall just for fun.

After being tripped for the third time in as many minutes, Webb felt his ribs give as a swift kick was his punishment for 'misbehaving'. He still wore the hood, making breathing difficult, and his arms were still bound behind his back. His ears picked up the sound of a cell door opening and even though he tried to prepare himself, he couldn't quite stop himself as he slammed into the wall, and slid down to floor on his injured side. Still bound and blinded by the hood, Webb waited tense moments to make sure there would be no 'punishing' kick or punch while he was down, and he could just make out the sound of their boots clomping away after the ominous clang of the door slaming shut and locking.

It was only when he thought he was alone did he allow his body to react, and he didn't stop himself as his body shook and shuddered with pain and grief, wondering what the hell he'd done to deserve this. Oh, yeah, he did the stupid thing every veteran of the military warned against, what he himself warned against; he volunteered. Cursing his luck for volunteering for something that he wasn't even sure was properly sanctioned, he froze when he heard a scurrying sound.

Rats? Did they put him in with the rats again?

Webb couldn't help the shudder of fear that gripped him at that thought. Normally he wouldn't have cared about the rats, but after being put in a room with a bunch of starving rats and being doused with grease and fat from a pork roast, he never wanted to hear that particular scritching of tiny clawed feet and sibilant squeaks of malevolence ever again.

On the off chance, the hope, the desperation, that it wasn't rats, Webb found his voice.

"He- uh, hello?"

He waited anxiously and heard that noise again, but this time there was something almost...clothlike about it. The sound of bare skin moving against the concrete that made up the walls and floor of this hellhole.

"He, hello?" a voice hoarse from unuse -or screaming- replied, as if its owner had to remember how to speak.

"Who's there?" Webb tried to scoot himself away, at least to sit up, but it was taking more effort than he was used to. Not that he was surprised. This past week had been an unending exercise in sleep and food deprivation, not to mention that damned water tank and the rats, and the lovely escort to this cell.

There was more silence, and then Webb _felt_ a presence come toward him, but oddly enough, he didn't feel too threatened aside from the fact that he was still bound and hooded. He felt the body heat before he felt the actual touch on his face, so he didn't jerk as he felt small, delicate hands reach out and touch him. He did stiffen in wariness, but those soft hands just went about their business, and then he felt the wonderful chill of fresh air as his hood was taken off and tossed across the room.

Webb inhaled deeply, eyes closed, loving the feel of the cool air brushing against his exposed face, sucking in deep lungfuls of air untainted by his own breathing in that confined hood. He opened his eyes when his rescuer felt around his shoulders, and down his arms to feel about his arms and wrists where he was bound. Those small, clever fingers made short work of the zip tie and that too joined the dratted hood in the far corner of the cell.

Webb got a good look at the one who freed him, and he was surprised to say the least. A petite waif of a girl knelt nearby, she was about one of her arm lengths away from him, close enough to free him but still keeping some distance. Not that he couldn't still easily reach her, but it was the way she held herself, with a tense wariness mixed in with a quiet dignity that caught his attention.

"Who are you?" he repeated, and those dry cracked lips twisted upward in wry smile.

"Liz Parker. Elizabeth Claudia Parker. That's who I was...before..."

Her hair was raggedly cut, long in some places, short in others and Webb realized that it had been cut that way on purpose. Probably another one of the mental games that their 'trainers' were so fond of, and the dim lighting wasn't good enough to see the color clearly, but he thought it would be a dark brown, if not black in better light. Her skin had a sallow, pale look that proved she hadn't seen the outside in years probably, though there was a dark tinge so she must have some exotic flavor to her to keep that tint despite her not having been sun-side in forever. Her bones were clearly seen against that unusual skin, some bones pulling and tightening the skin about them, while others just seemed to hang the skin like a blanket between a clothes line.

"Who...who are you?" she asked, and despite the husky unused quality Webb decided he liked it. It was the first friendly voice he'd heard in a long time.

"Webb, David Webb, Captain of the United States Army Rangers, attached to the 101st Airborne."

Webb could see one delicate eyebrow wing upward and a slight twist of her lips though no sound came forth, but Webb still got the impression he was being laughed at...and honestly, he felt like laughing at himself. He could see her mouth the words of his name, David Webb, and still no sound emerged, but Webb just shrugged it off.

"Yeah, fancy titles don't mean jack down here, huh?" he asked, leaning his head back against the wall as he settled more comfortably now that he wasn't bound, and his companion simply shook her head in agreement, still watching carefully.

After several long moments of quiet, in which Webb had closed his eyes, pretending to rest and ignore the neutral regard of Elizabeth, he found his patience was rewarded as a small but remarkably limber and strong body came closer to his, seeking out his body heat as the temperature gradually dropped. Webb smiled, just like a little bird to come into his trap, but he was careful not to spook her.

"Why you here?" she finally asked, as her head came to lay on his shoulder, curling up next to him as if she had the choice of burrowing deep inside him, she would.

"Oh, just had a bad day I guess," he shrugged, and a choked, wheezing giggle rumbled against his chest, bringing the first true smile to his face.

"Yeah...bad day," she agreed, and the two gradually drifted off into an uneasy sleep.


	22. Bad Times

Bad Times

By Kristin aka Kiara Alexis Klay

Genre: Crossover – Roswell; The Bourne Identity Movies

Disclaimer: Neither Roswell nor The Bourne movies or books are mine…I just dabble in their worlds from time to time.

Rating: Mature for graphic content.

Pairing: established David Webb (Jason Bourne)/ Elizabeth (Liz) Parker friendship

Synopsis: Sequel to "Bad Day" and the prequel to "Bad Things"…the continuation of the Liz/Bourne saga.

* * *

David reared back as his spittle and blood arched further behind to splatter against the wall. His body was bowed taunt like a bow drawn just before release, arms stretched at the conflicting pull of his upper body against the firm weight of the manacles chained to the floor. His jaw was almost as sore as the rest of his body, it's more recent hurt stinging worse than the lip he'd bit through just seconds previously from the right hook of his current 'trainer'.

His position made it difficult to breathe and to think coherently, and for a moment he did neither. For a moment, all he could think about was the pain, and dimly he wondered if he would ever see Elizabeth in the light of day.

* * *

"C'mon, Zero, time to go! On your feet!"

Elizabeth groaned, almost too tired to give a gerbil's smelly butt about giving the illusion of strength, but a deep seated will kept her on going. A will of iron and steel forged in the hammers of adversity and smelted and purified in the fires of survival. So tired…she'd fought so long…so hard.

She was only a girl, and had been a true middle class American one at that, who hadn't _needed_ to do anything more physically strenuous than try to hike away in the opposite direction of her drill sergeant of a P.E. teacher at all possible speed. Sure, the years of waitressing and being forced on her feet had kept her arms and legs somewhat toned, and lent to them a certain strength, but she was unskilled in the art of any form of combat not requiring a controller and gaming console.

She was nothing that was supposed to be able to stand against the faceless and seemingly indestructible conglomerate that was Government. She was not supposed to have lasted a day, much less the probable years, at their never tender cruelties, yet somehow she had. She had persevered, and seemed that much stronger in herself, and her beliefs than ever before.

And that pissed her 'guardians' to no end.

She was nobody….zero….zilch…nada…_NOTHING_…and yet she remained defiant. Loyal to a boy who had saved her life, and the two who called him 'brother' whom had nothing but thinly veiled acknowledgement of her supposed usefulness.

It wasn't like she had expected to one day be abducted by super secret government types in exchange for the Trio's –well, quartet now that their unit had been completed by _Her_--safety. She should have seen this coming. Hadn't Nasedo from the start made it clear that he felt humans were a waste of universal matter, and that the so-called love and devotion between her and his Liege lord was nothing but a danger, and something to be eliminated? The so-called 'protector' had simply been doing his duty: keeping the government types who had threatened and experimented on him and his colleagues away from his charges by getting rid of another problem whom he used for bait: her.

She had been handed over on a glistening platter of broken glass, and even more ragged hopes and dreams in exchange for the safety of his Royals. Apparently, a human who had been rescued by one of _Those From Above_ and possibly 'changed' was considered even more a risk and problem than one of the TFA's. An unknown quantity that had to be tested, to be quantified, to be put in the little box of Expected Behaviors, and kept away from the general populace as a possible danger to society.

It would have been funny in an ironic twist of _Destiny_ if she hadn't have had to endure it. Endure the attempts to break her, break her spirit, break her will and her secrets from Them. And when They couldn't…They gave her away to another set of Them, only these Them were a million times more effective than the initial Them ever could have been.

Escape, now that was a laugh. A pipedream nothing more than a figment of her imagination, a passing fancy that was unfounded and ungrounded in the harsh reality she found herself in as she was yanked upright by bruising fingers and carted off like one would toss a garbage bag around.

* * *

"_Don't let them make you forget."_

Elizabeth's words echoed through his mind as he was beaten once more in the Spartanly furnished room now colored by the red splatter of his blood.

Elizabeth.

It had been several weeks since he had first been introduced to Elizabeth, or at least that was as close as he could figure. Telling the passing of time was difficult between all of the sleep deprivation, drugs, beatings, and the windowless hallways and rooms. The lack of any timepiece further compounded the issue.

David knew if it weren't for his tiny friend then he would have lost his temper –and his sanity – far sooner than now. As it was, he knew slowly but surely his control was being chipped away until there would be nothing left of him and everything of the weapon THEY demanded he be.

Every time he was returned to his cell after a 'session', Elizabeth would be there, sometimes with a funny story remembered from her stolen youth, or simply an understanding silence as her soft hands helped to soothe bruised flesh. He always felt so much better afterward, as if he could take on the whole building, and win. David would joke –albeit not funny—that she had healing hands and she would just go unnaturally still, biting her lip, and turn her eyes away. David found himself looking forward to cell time and he cursed his weakness…_she _was his weakness, and if THEY ever found out, then they (being him and Elizabeth) were FUBAR.

It had been several minutes since he was marched in and manacled to not only the ground, but also the only piece of furniture in this white room, a chair barely big enough for him to sit in, but his lacerated legs –the lingering result of some 'conditioning' a few days prior—enjoyed the respite, however brief it would turn out to be.

And it had been until his 'trainer' came in for some more breaking in.

It was that time that had been enough to let David's mind wander, and the worry that he'd been keeping in started to bubble upward, invading his thoughts and causing him to shift ever so slightly with the restlessness they inevitably brought. Lately, within the last week or so, sometimes Elizabeth wasn't there to greet him and they were fast becoming some of the worst times for David. His imagination ran wild…if what they were doing to him was standard for this program, how much worse would it be –is—for Elizabeth?

Another blow came toward him and then he felt nothing after the impact.

* * *

"Arrgh!" Elizabeth cried out, her left shoulder colliding solidly with a wall as she didn't have time enough to try and take the impact on her forearms. Her guards were deliberately keeping her off balance and she gritted her teeth as her body was lifted to follow the command of the hand ripping her forward and up by utilizing her hair as a handhold.

The air made a strange whistling sound as the laws of physics came into play, the kinetic energy generated by the stronger force behind her sent her reeling onward, and she knew things would only end badly as yet another physical law would come into play. She did not look forward to see the inevitable result of the ending to an object in forced propulsion meeting an unmovable object.

Unfortunately as in all things, Elizabeth was quick to learn her lesson. This time it was her forehead taking the brunt of the wall and dizzily Elizabeth sought the quiet blackness to escape the advancing nausea.

Bad times were coming. Elizabeth could feel it if she were conscious enough to do so.


	23. Goodbye To Yesterday

Title: Goodbye to Yesterday

By:Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay

Genre: Crossover, Roswell, Twilight

Characters:Liz Parker, Edward Cullen; Alice, Jasper, Esme, Carlisle, Rosalie, Emmett, mentions of Bella, Jacob, POD squad

Disclaimer: Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, and a whole host of networks and producers own Roswell; Stephanie Meyer and her publishing group own

Twilight and her respective sequels. Title is taken from part of the song _If Today Was Your Last Day_ as sang by Nickelback on their latest album _Dark Horse_.

Rating: Uncertain -- Goes AU after 2nd Season of Roswell; AU set after the third book (i keep forgetting the name) ; kind of angsty

A/n:This is going to be a brief series of ficlets in this Twilight story arc. Dedicated to **alexceasar **or the insistence on an Edward/Liz pairing. I realized suddenly why I never quite was as emotionally and mentally involved in the Twilight series....I couldn't stand Bella....or, perhaps, more truthfully, I can't stand a woman who makes her every happiness and existence all stored up in one person/man/thing. I blame Laurell K. Hamilton and Patricia Briggs and Joss Wheadon for all the vulnerable-yet-strong heroines they brought forth for it. :D

* * *

~*~*~

If today was your last day

and tomorrow was too late

Could you say goodbye to yesterday

would you live each moment like your last

Leave old pictures in the past

donate ever dime you had

If today was your last day "

- Nickelback, If Today Was Your Last Day, Dark Horse

~*~*~

* * *

"Is he still up there?"

The words were hushed unnecessarily -- the occupants of the house could hear the brush of a butterfly's wing from miles away, and the topic of the conversation wasn't pay much attention to anything these days-- but habit and manners were inbred deeply no matter how many years have passed.

"Do you have to ask?" the reply was snarled back, but the bitterness and anger were not directed at the one who asked the question.

Esme Cullen gave a pained sigh, her mother's heart torn as mixed feelings warred within. Logically, her human mind told her that yes, the situation was unfortunate and highly unpleasant, extremely so, yet it was not the end-of-the-world. But the protective, maternal part, and that darker half of her instincts, screamed to avenge the hurt dealt to her so-called 'middle' child and the un-intentional insult toward her family. Preferably in the most painfully, gruesomely bloody way possible until all the hurt, and the bloodlust, was soothed and satiated.

Her 'daughter' Rosalie glanced her way, the frigid aloofness drawn around her like armor encasing the fragile woman beneath, and Esme cocked an eyebrow in askance. Rosalies plump lips thinned as her jaw tightened and briefly, some of her true nature showed, however fleeting in the warning glow of eyes turned the crimson of old blood.

"He refuses to come down although the keening and sounds of furniture breaking are finished. As we don't have heartbeats or the need to breathe, neither of those are in existence, yet I know he hasn't left the room for the last....oh, two weeks, three days, and twelve hours." The blond beauty allowed herself a moment of hurt and pain for her 'brother' before she drew her usual cloak of hostility about her, though this time it had a more direct target than usual.

"Well, that's good," Esme stated with more confidence than she felt, and Rosalie's sharp glare told her that it was not as hidden as she'd hoped.

"What's good?" Emmett called out.

Both women turned to the familiar presence, and in that moment Rosalie was transformed from Glacial Queen to an almost normal, beautiful young woman in pain and she walked into the strong embrace of her mate, soaking in his essence like a lifeline. Emmett's sturdy frame dwarfed both of the females before him, even Rosalie who was a woman of decent height but compared to Emmett seemed as dainty as Alice or Esme, the shorter members of the family. Esme herself found herself wrapped in a set of comforting arms, and she inhaled that scent that was uniquely her own mates, and she relaxed and leaned back against that solid chest, pain, grief, joy, and sorrow mingling in a tantalizing aroma that both soothed and pained.

"What's good?" Carlisle repeated Emmett's question and the two women exchanged wary glances, debating whether or not it necessary to bring the tension back to the room. With a mental sigh, Esme took an unneeded breath and answered truthfully.

"Well, there's no more furniture breaking, he's still in the room 'alive' for as much as we can be, and the keening has stopped," Esme put a cheerful spin on her summary, and it was the male's turn to sigh. Carlisle gave his 'wife' and companion of a few centuries another squeeze, nuzzling her neck, and resting his temple against hers as his chin dropped to her shouler. Emmett's usual lighthearted features were stony with a hardness most often seen on the face of the woman in his arms.

"He still not come out yet?" he mused, looking into the distance with a scowl, absently rubbing his hands up and down the curve of Rosalie's spin, arms flexing as the direness of the situation didn't settle well on his broad shoulders.

"No," Esme replied, holding tight to Carlisle and wishing for a moment she could just sink into him and never come back up. Emmett rumbled a growl and in a reversal of their normal positions, Rosalie was soothing and trying to calm him down, whispering hushed platitudes against his chest and neck.

"We'll have to bring him up some food if he won't come out on his own soon," Carlisle murmured, a grim sadness befalling the Cullen patriarch.

"He will," Esme whispered, eyes tracking up the stairs where her 'son' was hiding away and hurting....alone. "He must."

~*~*~

"Is this really going to work?"

The lean and lithe honey blonde man stared at his wife with a mix of caution and hope, and the under five feet black haired pixie snorted and gave him a Look that had the bigger of the two averting his eyes in shame at his doubt.

It wasn't that Jasper Hale-Cullen doubted his wife's visions, but after weeks of the emotional turmoil in the Cullen household brought on by Edward's extreme reaction to Be--that _human's_ rejection after everything that he, and the rest of the Cullen family, had risked and sacrificed, he was more than a little leery of any quick fix but he was more than willing to try.

All those emotions, especially the collective rage and pain, had been driving the empathic soldier wild.

"Of _course_ it's going to work, silly! I saw it didn't I? And besides, this one is _nothing_ like _her_ so there won't be any bad associations with similar personalities....well, beside this one being so much prettier, not your average human, and a stronger personality than, than _her_," Alice babbled, faltering toward the end as the sting of betrayl made itself known.

A wave of peace and calm seemed to seep her pain and hurt for the moment and a grateful smile and a lingering kiss was Jasper's reward for trying to calm his excitable mate. She truly appreciated Jasper's effort, and it was as much for him, as it was for herself, and her family, that she was going to do what she was going to do.

"It's not that I don't trust your visions, Alice....it's just, does he really need another _human_ to get over the other one? I don't think Edward is going to appreciate this," he warned and Alice sighed, shaking her head and sending her short, spiky black hair swaying with the motion.

"Oh, he won't like it at first....why do you think I took you with me before the vision finished? I didn't need Edward knowing ahead of time and fortifying himself in his mind because he read my mind of what needed to be done. He's too busy pouting and feeling sorry for himself, justifiably so...but still. Just...trust me on this, okay?"

"I always do," the elder rumbled and Alice couldn't resist kissing her soldier once more. For a while she lost herself to the taste and scent of Jasper, but then she stiffened a wave of premonition roiling through her, and she knew the time for stalling was past.

"Alice?"

"We don't have anymore time...we need to act now!"

With the grace and speed of their kind, Alice whirled away with a flash of crimson eyes, and Jasper was quick to follow. He was grateful that Alice couldn't listen in on his thoughts as Edward could. He couldn't help but wonder how one human could rectify the mistakes another had made to one of them. But ever faithful, he followed after and caught up to his saviour, his wife, and hoped that whomever looked after the souls of the Undead would smile upon them this day.

He hoped it wasn't already too late for his hurting brother.

~*~*~


	24. Bring Me To Life

Bring Me to Life

By Kristin aka Kiara Alexis Klay

Genre: crossover - Roswell, Twilight book series

Disclaimer: Neither the show Roswell, nor the Twilight series is mine. I am just dabbling in the world for a bit. The title is taken from the Evanescence song _Bring Me to Life_ off their album, _Fallen_. That's not mine either though I like it perhaps a little too much.

Rating: Adult -- WARNING - Graphic scenes of violence ahead -- Read at your own risk.

Pairing: mentions of CC pairings of past/present (for both TW & Ros), UC pairings (Liz Parker/ Edward Cullen)

Synopsis: What would have happened if Bella had chosen the other man...and what would Edward's family do to get him out of his funk? What would happen if Liz didn't forget the last few weeks of loneliness and persecution for trying to find Alex's killer?

A/N: Here's the next installment of the Twilight miniseries.

* * *

_"How can you see into my eyes_

_like open doors_

_leading you down into my core_

_where I've become so numb_

_without a soul my spirit sleeping somewhere cold_

_until you find it there_

_and lead it back home"_

~Evanescence, Bring Me to Life

* * *

Elizabeth Parker was within the shadows of her room, sitting on the floor with her back braced against the wall, the window above and to the left of where she sat curled in on herself. The adrenaline and rushing need that had driven her these last few weeks had gradually worn off faster than she had anticipated, and the fall from the high was just that: a fall. The numbness had first begun when she'd realized that the ship that blasted off into Earth's atmosphere was actually occupied by a _living_ hybrid, that Max had _allowed_ the continuous existence of a traitor who was now enroute to the enemy with important information on the group and their capabilities, not to mention images, and she soon felt like a sieve as all thoughts and coherency seemed to vanish.

Once she'd recovered from the initial shock and became aware she was in Max's embrace - something that once would have caused her joy - now only served to make her feel sick beneath that icy, leaden numbness, and without a word she had reeled back faster than a striking snake. Wide, disbelieving eyes never took their accusing stare off of Max as she avoided the reaching hands offering safety and stability, and she was shaking her head even as she turned away.

No, to the fact that her best friend was still and cold and decomposing in his grave, while his murderer was allowed to live, allowed another opportunity to hurt, to destroy. It was all too much.

So here she sat, alive of sorts, in the deepening shadows of her room, alone in the house as her parents were once again away to some convention, and hiding. Hiding from the pain, hiding from the reality, hiding from being spotted if Max decided he needed to come over to 'make sure she's alright', and just hiding in general.

She would have laughed and cried at how pathetic she was if she could muster the strength to care.

Her eyes and limbs started drooping as the twilight deepened in time with her apathy, unheeding and uncaring of the cold, hard surfaces she was pressed against, not even noticing as her body started shivering to try to keep her core temperature up. She heard movement, the sound of a leather sole screeching against the textured tarmac of her balcony, the soft crunch a warning of a familiar stride.

Roused from her lethargy for the moment, the thought that she was annoyed stuck out the most even as she scuttled silently against the wall, keeping herself small and in the darkest shadows, hidden from sight as the crunching stopped, and Liz knew from experience that a ghostly pale face would be peering into the window, searching, seeking....demanding.

_Leave me alone! I have nothing to say and no ears to hear,_she mentally begged the once-welcome intruder...and Liz felt she should be more surprised at the thought that she really felt that way now. Max _was_ intruding, and he was most certainly not welcome in her home, her bedroom....her life, anymore. He'd made it perfectly clear the last few weeks that she meant nothing to him, he didn't respect her, or her wishes, or her instincts and insights unless and until they were convenient for _him_ and she was heartily sick of it.

Slowly, she wrapped her arms around her legs and tucked them in close as she pressed as close as she could against the wall, the corner, wishing even as she did that she could melt into the shadows and never have to see the harsh dawn of tomorrow, of another day spent without the joy her friend had brought, or the comfort and escape he had offered even when she was at odds with the rest of the group. She held her breath and willed her heart to stop beating so frantically, willed herself to be stone, to be anywhere but here.

It seemed like an eternity had passed before she heard the deep, sigh of disappointment and was that a bit of frustration? She felt the smirk cover her face as she literally _felt_ the pause, she practically could _see_ the thoughts run through his head and passing across his eyes: dare he enter her room, her sanctum, without her permission, invade it so obviously, so forcefully? Finally...finally she heard the sound she'd been hoping for, the sound of those same leather soles scuffling across the balcony, almost dragging with their owner's reluctance as if he were _giving_ her a chance to pop out, flag him down, and beg for even daring to defy him his presence in her conscious attention.

When she was absolutely certain that he wasn't going to come back, that she was safe, she sagged back against the wall and started sob.

* * *

"Oh, if only I had the time, I'd make him _writhe_," a sibilant voice promised in cold fury and Jasper glanced sharply at Alice, the usually perky and good-natured vampiress casting baleful glares at the retreating figure of the overly muscular youth slouching away with dejection and frustration evident in tense quality of his stiff gait.

"He's done something that bad?" Jasper stated more than questioned and Alice merely growled, a hint of fang peeking out as she curled one corner of her lip in derision.

"_Alice_!" Jasper warned, his tone taking on the brush of command he rarely used with his family and Alice reacted, pulling herself back together, willing the crimson eyes of vengeance and bloodlust back with great effort. All her instincts were screaming at her to take out what could be a threat to her coven, her family, and it wasn't easy. The visions came quickly, the outcomes were debated, even though they were sketchy at best for despite being not quite human, that part that was 'not quite' was interfering in her true vision, so she had to settle for these vague indicators of paths and decisions that might affect the outcome she wanted.

Pouting, Alice opened her eyes to share an unhappy gaze with her Jasper, he could see her clear desire to hunt at odds with what needed to be done, which was necessary. He'd been with her for enough years to recognize this and like the soldier he had been, awaited his orders.

"I'll be fine. It's just the things I've seen about..._him_ in his previous, current, and various future lives really makes me not like his continued existence," Alice gave an unnecessary explanation, her shrug like a signal that eased the remaining tension out of her and helped her focus on the task at hand. Jasper kept his eyes upon Alice, ever alert for any indication all was not well, and Alice smiled wanly as she raked her fingers through her short crop of hair, sending the soft spikes gently swaying.

"Well then, now that _that's_ out of my system, we wait."

"Wait?" Jasper cocked a questioning brow and Alice gave an almost sheepish smile.

"Wait and see," she winked back audaciously and then rose to find a better spot of their prey. Both vampires could hear the sound of weeping, harsh sobs that began in a hiccupped cry, and gradually increasing to an almost wailing keen.

"Didn't we just leave this?" Jasper winced as his enhanced hearing picked up the cries and sighed, while Alice gave a wan smile.

"Just wait," she promised again, sadly.

* * *

It seemed that once she began to cry she just couldn't stop. She would have figured she'd have no more tears left to cry, but apparently she was mistaken. And that made her mad. Suddenly and voraciously overcome with a burning sense of rage and anger Liz threw her head back and released a shriek of pain and anger, the guttural sound almost like a war-cry.

It felt so good to get that off her chest, she screamed again and found that she needed something more. To bolster that rage, Liz shot up off the floor and in the final ray of the fading light she launched herself at the university pendants and ripped them off the wall. That felt just as good as her war-cry, and another cry that was more triumph than anger, she attacked her room. Posters were torn from the wall and ripped to shreds, picture frames hurled at the walls, knick-knacks on the dresser were scooped up and tossed away to shatter with a satisfactory tinkling of broken glass filigree, textbooks were swept off shelves while the bookshelf itself was upended to join the desk in the middle of the floor.

She wasn't finished yet, she still had more fire and adrenaline coursing through her veins, and she couldn't stop anymore than she could keep her tears at bay or her war whoops silenced. She fell upon the bed like a woman possessed, and sheets and blankets went flying as they were unceremoniously yanked and pulled and ripped off, the mattress finding itself taking the lamp and nightstand along with it to block the bedroom door, and the box spring bearing indentions as her foot came down to pierce the matting in multiple sections. It felt so good to kick the box spring in that Liz spun in a roundhouse kick taken from memories of every action and horror movie she'd endured dating Kyle Valenti and felt a spurt of pleasure lick its way to burn the cold numbness away, and her bathroom door shook open with a splintered groan at the abuse.

Perfume bottles, first aid kit, vitamin and medicine bottles, toothpaste, and soap all came shooting past the dilapidated door like ballistic missiles, and the shower curtain screeched at being plucked so inelegantly down, curtain holders flying in all directions or the few remaining on the curtain rod whirling around like angry bees. The plunger met the mirror, shattering it like all her hopes and dreams had been shattered that fateful September day, and then it too was shattered as she beat in the ceramic pedestal sink.

Chest heaving with her exertions, Liz found herself in the middle of her room, and the reflection of the light coming from the security light on the building next door across the alley brought her attention to the mirror, angled so it had caught the light and Liz stared at the vision before her.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who was that bearing the wild eyed gaze of a trapped animal? Her hair was mussed and her clothes ragged and covered in a varied mix of plaster, dust, and debris. Her face, lately pale and pasty with stress and worry, was now flushed red, and there were ragged tears on knuckles and fingers that stung as soon as her gaze took them in.

Was this really her? Was this what she had become, been reduced to?

It was too much.

Loosing her loudest and most pained roar of all the grief and defiance she had within, she hurled herself and her fist across the room and scattered remains of her past right into the mirror on the wall. Still screaming, she wailed with fist and voice until both the image and the illusions clattered on the floor, and she continued still despite the liquid warmth running down her hands, wrists, and forearms to meet and puddle in the inner concave of her elbow before following the curve to drip down into the dust waiting to soak up the warm offering.

Awareness only returned when the familiar piercing shrill of a siren shattered the euphoric daze she had seemed tunneled in, and fear prompted her feet into motion. She didn't want to deal with the police, or anyone else for that matter, and almost without conscious thought she found herself down in the alley between her childhood home and place of employment.

Spurred on by forces she didn't have time to contemplate, Liz took off into the night, never once looking back even as the sounds of law enforcement drew nearer.

"_Now_, we move," Alice ordered, and swiftly the pair bond seemed to vanish into thin air with nothing but the sound of the wind of their passage to remember their ever having been there.


	25. Porcelain Heart

Porcelain Heart

By Kristin aka Kiara Alexis Klay

Genre : roswell, twilight, crossover, au, uc

Disclaimer: Niether Roswell, nor the Twilight series, or even the title of the fic is mine claim. The title is taken from a song of the same name written and sung by Barlow Girl off of their album _Another Journal Entry_.

Rating:Teen to Mature this installment

Pairings:Main pairing so far Alice/Jasper; eventual Liz/Edward -- cc for most of the Twilight cast, cc/uc for Roswell couples

* * *

_Broken heart, one more time_

_Pick yourself up, why even cry_

_Broken pieces in your hands_

_Wonder how you'll make it whole_

~Porcelain Heart, Barlow Girl, Another Journal Entry

* * *

She ran.

She ran for what seemed like hours, like a frightened animal desperately seeking sanctuary from the looming shadow threatening to consume the life out of her. She ran as she had never had before, as she never did in gym class, not even that night that Nasedo had kidnapped and stalked her. She ran until the air pierced her throat and lungs with each inhalation, until her ribs screeched their indignation.

She ran until her feet, ankles, and legs threatened to collapse under the strain; she ran until the glass fell from her clenched fists to trail after her in a tinkling, crimson train and slivers of wood dug themselves deeper.

She ran with no destination only the knowledge that she had to. She ran because she _knew_ there was no going back, that there was nothing but death, isolation, and bitter disappointment awaiting her if she stayed.

She slowed down to a light jog to give her winded self a few moments rest, hardly noticing as the ground beneath her feet shifted from asphalted tarmac to compacted desert until a misplaced step caused her tired legs to finally give in, and she plopped inelegantly face first into the dirt.

Spluttering dust out of her mouth, and sneezing out whatever remained; Liz forced herself to move forward. She hadn't come this far, for what it was worth, only to have her body fail. Crawling on hands and knees, she pushed forward and then immediately wished she hadn't. The dips and wide expanse of desert had masked a depression and once she pitched forward she couldn't stop.

While not too awfully deep, the incline was staggered and pitted with sharp rocks and bramble that cut and tore into her already bruised skin. When she finally came to a stop at the bottom of the miniature gully, she just lay there in the tepid water that had gathered there, exhausted.

Liz groaned and gave a hiss as something gave a sickeningly squishy-sounding pop and then there was nothing but a bloom of fiery pain from the general direction of her ribs on her left side. Panting through the worst of it, it seemed like every ache and wound decided to cash in on their fair share of the agony, and Liz blacked out for a few moments until the shock of liquid cold from the water woke her up.

Liz used only enough energy to rest her head on a small ledge to keep it above water, and shivering, she felt herself start to drift off as the pain simply became too much.

* * *

"Jasper, hurry, hurry! This way!"

Jasper had no real need for Alice's directions to find the girl; the scent of her blood was more than enough for his well honed predator's instinct to track easily. Oddly enough, the girl's blood spoor did not bring about the usual bloodlust reaction. There was something…Other…about the girl's blood, and while it was interesting the madness of The Hunger didn't grip him. Jasper knew he would be talking to Alice about his strange _non-reaction_ but it would have to wait until later.

With the speed of their kind, Alice and Jasper found the girl very quickly, and Jasper wasn't the only one to hiss in displeasure. Even though she knew that this was the best route for her family, Alice hated seeing the pain and the result of so much hardship in this one's few years.

Looking grim and serious for almost the first time since he met her, Jasper was just as worried over Alice as the condition they found the girl in. As if she possessed Edward's gift of telepathy, Alice swung her gaze up to meet his own, and a small smile flickered across her face momentarily.

"I will be fine, Jasper. Let's get her ready to go home."

* * *

"Are they here yet?"

Impatience stamping her features, Rosalie ignored the mildly scolding glance of reproof Esme shot her way as she paced across the open confine of the Cullen living room.

"Be patient, Rose," Esme soothed by habit, but her shaking hands fluttering about to smooth an imaginary wrinkle off of her immaculate dress slacks gave belied her own nervousness.

Emmett merely watched, uncharacteristically still and silent, as his lifemate did her best to wear a track in the smoothly polished hardwood. He, too, was just as interested in the answers to Rosalie's questions, so he didn't feel a need to speak up just yet.

He was curious, as they all were, since Jasper's phone call almost a day ago had wrought the most life in the Cullen house that had been lacking since….the Incident. Jasper hadn't talked long, never one for words, only requested that Carlisle prepare the guest room for a 'mortal' guest to be treated and be recuperating for an indefinite period of time. He also relayed that Alice wanted Carlisle to meet them at the private airstrip the family had used in times past when discretion was of higher safety than a simple cover story would suffice.

So here it was, nearly 24 hours since that phone call and Carlisle had been gone a little less than two hours ago to meet the prodigal Cullens who had taken off on another of Alice's little jaunts. Even Edward had been roused from his brooding sulking long enough to be informed of the new tenant, not that he had ventured out of his room yet.

As one, the three stopped all activity, no trace of humanity left as even the very un-needed breath stilled unused in their lungs, focus and senses entirely stretched outward, seeking.

"It's them," Emmett stated, rattling out on a stale breath.

"They're a few miles out!" Rosalie tutted about, for once at a loss and Emmett could relate. Who was this mysterious 'mortal' of Alice and Jasper's, and why was she needed here, amongst their kind?

They heard Alice's clear, almost child-like voice first and as one the watchful three breathed a sigh of relief. If Alice was okay, then Jasper was sure to be as well, and the Cullen family was as whole as it could be. Next was Jasper's low, drawling tones and Esme perked up as she clearly heard Carlisle replying back.

The next instant they were tense all over as they recognized Carlisle's 'doctor' voice, snapping out directions to the other two, and Emmett prepared himself the same instant Rosalie and Esme shared wide, panicked glances.

Alice burst into the house first, looked at the other three with a smile but was soon distracted holding open the door as Jasper bounded in, a smallish looking bundle in his arms, Carlisle hovering anxiously over that small something, heading without fail toward the staircase.

"Hello everybody, I know we weren't gone long enough to really be missed, but I missed you all! And so did Jasper even if he never will admit to it, and I'm really sorry we worried you all, what with Edward and…the Incident, wow we like really need to come up with a better name, discrete my vampire pale derriere," Alice babbled as Jasper and Carlisle disappeared up the stairs with nary a n acknowledging nod to the others still gathered in the foyer.

"Alice, what was that?" Rosalie gestured to the now empty stairs, even as the four made their way by some invisible pull.

"Oh, that's our newest houseguest, she's going to be staying with us for a while, she's really been through a lot, so Rose, don't be mean I mean it," Alice warned as she pouted prettily at the slightly taller she-vampire and Emmett relaxed just enough to give his pseudo-'sister' a hug and a 'welcome home'.

"Let's not dawdle, children, and see our visitor," Esme advised, effectively breaking into the argument you didn't need Alice's visions of the future to predict was coming. One look at the glower on the younger blonde's face and she held back a sigh.

The four gathered outside the room that they would have known to be their newest guests even if they hadn't smelled the blood…and even the door that had been ominously shut and barred for the last several weeks was cracked open just the barest of slivers.


End file.
